


How to Fight Loneliness

by Mad_Lori



Series: How to Fight Loneliness [1]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: F/M, Flashbacks, Get Together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-09
Updated: 2012-07-09
Packaged: 2017-11-09 12:59:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 40
Words: 146,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/455716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mad_Lori/pseuds/Mad_Lori
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a whirlwind year, Prentiss and Reid went from teammates to husband and wife. Married now for a year, a new case in Texas will put them through the wringer and give them their greatest test yet. Includes flashbacks to how their relationship changed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> How to fight loneliness? Smile all the time.  
> Shine your teeth till meaningless, sharpen them with lies  
> And whatever's going down will follow you around  
> That's how you fight loneliness  
> You laugh at every joke  
> Drag your blanket blindly, fill your heart with smoke  
> And the first thing that you want, will be the last thing you ever need  
> That's how you fight it.
> 
> \--Wilco

 

Emily Prentiss had been to so many conferences that they were all a blur. The sameness of the convention centers with their high-traffic carpeting and towers of stackable chairs lined up against the walls like middle-schoolers at a dance, the temporary dividers that folded back into notches in the cinderblock walls, rank after rank of tables with skirts that were Velcroed to the edges, always some shade of dark blue or burgundy. She'd sworn she'd stop going to these things unless she was speaking, and yet here she was, dragged along to another one, this one some flavor of law-enforcement conference. Behavioral analysis fit into so many academic categories…criminology, psychology, forensics, police procedure…that if the BAU team members accepted all of the invitations to speak they received there'd be no time left for the actual profiling.

She wandered through the vendor room, killing time. Book publishers, professional associations, victim's-assistance programs, manufacturers of various paraphernalia for officers.  _You can tell it's a law enforcement conference,_  she thought.  _An academic one wouldn't have the Taser people here._

She turned toward the next booth and saw a slim, dark-haired woman standing there looking at the literature...it was Elle Greenaway, the agent whose place she'd taken on the team. She'd met her a couple of times when she'd been in DC and stopped in to say hello to her former colleagues.

Out of habit, Emily watched her for a moment before speaking to her. It was quickly obvious that she, like Emily, was killing time. She was looking at the brochure in her hand but not really reading it. Emily wondered why she'd come. She was dressed in a conservative suit that conveyed authority; Emily guessed she was here to make law-enforcement contacts. She remembered that Elle had gone into business as some kind of consultant; Emily wasn't clear on the details.

"Elle Greenaway?" she said, having gleaned all she could covertly.

Elle turned. For a split second, her face went blank, then she smiled as she recognized Emily. "Agent Prentiss," she said.

"Please, it's Emily," she said, smiling back and meeting her halfway, their hands clasping for a brief shake. "How've you been?"

"Very well, thanks."

Emily's  _liar-liar-pants-on-fire_  alarm was pinging. "Still living here in Dallas?"

"Yes."

"Remind me what you do again?"

"I'm an internal security consultant. Companies hire me to help develop profiles of employees who might be likely to commit fraud, that kind of thing."

"Wow, that sounds…really…."

"Boring? Yeah, it is, a bit. But it's nine to five, and there are no dead people." A shadow crossed her face as she said this.

Emily nodded with the sympathy that only another profiler could have. "I can see the appeal."

"How's everyone at the BAU? I haven't been back in ages."

"We're all fine. JJ and Will finally got married last spring, you probably knew that. Hotch is fine, Morgan is good, Rossi's writing another book."

"And how's Reid? Genius-like as ever?"

"I've discovered it's selective genius. Works great on serial killers and the history of table salt, but isn't so reliable when it comes to remembering to pick up coffee at the grocery store," she said, laughing.

Elle's eyes narrowed a little at this oblique domestic reference. "What?"

Emily was momentarily thrown off guard.  _She must have heard._  "You…don't know?"

"Don't know what?"

"We're married." She held up her left hand and wiggled the ring finger, adorned with her silver wedding band and moonstone engagement ring.

Elle blinked. "You married Reid?  _Spencer_  Reid?"

"Yes," Emily said, keeping her expression pleasant while sighing internally. Sometimes it got tiresome having her choice of spouse met with disbelief.

"I'm sorry, I just…really?"

"Come on, let's get some coffee and sit down." Emily steered Elle back towards the main concourse of the convention center, where there was a coffee shop. Elle followed along, and within a few minutes they were seated, armed with caffeine. Emily watched Elle's uncomfortable affect with a mixture of impatience and sympathy. This wasn't the first time she'd been through this with someone. "It's okay, Elle. You can ask."

Elle looked up. "No, it's insulting."

"It's understandable if you're surprised. Not everyone gets us at first. People make assumptions about the type of person either of us would end up with, and it's usually not each other."

"He is younger than you."

"Ten years. I like to think of it as a life-expectancy correction."

Elle smiled, and she seemed to have gotten over her surprise enough to remember the usual social etiquette for this situation. "Well, congratulations. How's married life?"

"It's pretty great, actually. Better than I thought it would be."

"I'm trying to imagine what it'd be like to be married to Reid and I can't quite do it."

Emily laughed. "It's an adventure sometimes, that's for sure. But it's worth it."

"How is his mother doing?"

"There are good days and bad. More bad than good as time goes by."

"I'm sorry. I met her once, she seemed like an interesting woman."

"She's really something. With how attached she is to him, I was afraid she'd view me as a threat, but we took to each other right away."

"Is Reid here with you?" Elle said, glancing around.

"He's speaking tonight. That's the only reason I'm here. I swore up and down I'd never go to another conference unless I was speaking, but then I had to go and marry another profiler. He dragged me along."

"Doesn't sound like he had to drag too hard."

"Well…maybe not. He comes along when I'm the one speaking, so it's only fair that I do the same. At least we get a couple of days away together, maybe squeeze in a decent dinner." Her phone rang; the name on the screen read 'Mr. Prentiss.' That was a private joke. He'd never even asked her to take his name, but she'd teased him that he could take hers, if he wanted to. Her calls to his phone came up as 'Mrs. Genius,' one of Garcia's favorite nicknames for her. "This is him now." She picked up. "Hey."

"I'm done with that guy. Where'd you wander off to?"

"I'm at that coffee shop across from the vendor room. I ran into an old friend, come meet us."

"Be right there." He hung up.

"He's on his way," Emily said. Elle nodded and crossed her legs, taking a big slurp of her latte. "So," she went on, casting for a new topic. "Anyone special in your life?"

"Just my pet rock, I'm afraid," Elle said, looking off towards the windows. "I read about the Duluth case online."

Emily nodded, not commenting on the smooth change of topic. "That was a bad one. We were short-handed because Hotch was on vacation, and the UNSUB's profile never made any sense. Honestly, if he hadn't walked into the police station I don't know if we would have found him."

"Suicide by cop?"

"Seems that way. He acted like he wanted to turn himself in, but before they could frisk him down, he pulled a gun and started firing." She shifted in her chair a little. "Reid took a minor hit in the arm."

Elle's eyes were cautiously sympathetic. "That must have been scary."

"He was fine. Just a flesh wound." There was no way she was going to sit here and pour out what that had been like. She could see it clear as day if she closed her eyes. The UNSUB drawing the gun, firing before anyone really knew what was happening. She'd seen Reid knocked over, and the sight had been like a knife in her guts. Then guns were going off all around her as the police shot the UNSUB. She hadn't fired a single round, because her whole world had just narrowed down to a tiny pinprick, and she cared about nothing else except finding out how badly he was hurt. At that moment she'd understood something of the rationale behind the policy against co-workers in personal relationships, because she hadn't cared at all about apprehending the UNSUB after she'd seen her husband shot.

"How are you two allowed to stay in the BAU together?" Elle asked, as if reading Emily's mind.

"Hotch smoothed it over. He made some argument that the rule was intended to prevent a subordinate being taken advantage of by a superior, and that since Reid and I are the same rank, it didn't matter. He claimed that we were both too essential, and the team dynamics were too well established…anyway, it was more or less bullshit, but Strauss bought it. I suspect Rossi might have twisted her arm a little." She saw Reid approaching over Elle's shoulder and waved him down. "Here he is," she said.

He came up to the table, looked down at Elle, and his mouth dropped open. "Elle! Wow, what a surprise!" Elle half-rose to embrace him while Emily reached over to the next table and dragged over a third chair. "How are you?" He sat, smiling widely, tossing his messenger bag over the back of the chair and reaching out for Emily's hand.

"I'm fine, thanks. I know, it's been a long time." Elle smiled. "You look good." Emily thought so, too. Reid's dress sense was quirky and ever-varying. You never knew what you were going to get, be it Disheveled-Grad-Student Reid, or Debate-Club-President Reid, or Retirement-Home-Chic Reid. Today he was Eccentric-Hipster Reid in a dark gray suit and a red-and-black houndstooth-check vest he'd found at some consignment store.

"Thanks, so do you."

"And congratulations," she said, glancing at Emily.

"Thank you," he said, flushing a little and squeezing Emily's fingers. "So how's consulting? Private security, right?"

"Kind of. It's like profiling, except without all the satisfaction of actually catching bad guys. How's that philosophy degree coming along?"

Reid hesitated just slightly before answering, and Emily knew that he was seeing what she'd been seeing since she and Elle had begun their conversation. "I completed it last year. For the first time since I was twelve, I'm not actually working on a degree right now. I barely know what to do with myself."

"Yeah, he's such a slacker that he's only published four papers so far this year," Emily teased him.

He turned in his chair a little to address her. "I actually just came by to tell you that I forgot to add in the new slides to my presentation, I have to head back to the room and do that before my talk. So I can't stay."

"I'll get some dinner and bring it up."

"Thanks."

"Chinese?"

"Whatever." He rose. "Elle, I'm sorry I have to run, but it was great to see you again. Leave Emily your card, we'll have to get together next time you're in DC, or we're back here."

"I'd like that," Elle said.

"See you later," he said to Emily. He leaned over and kissed her, a quick polite-company peck on the lips. "817," he said.

"818," she replied, waving as he dashed off.

Elle looked bemused. "What was that about?"

"Oh…yeah," she chuckled. "Well…the thing is, he's a little shy about saying things, especially when others could hear."

"What things?"

"You know. Three little words?"

"Oh, I get it."

"Early in our relationship I discovered that, Reid being Reid, he'd been…keeping count. Of how many times we'd said it."

"He kept count? No, wait, of course he did."

"So we started using the count instead of the words. At first we just did it in public but now we pretty much do it all the time. There's a pool at the office that they don't think we know about regarding what day we'll hit 1000."

* * *

Emily let herself into their room, carrying a bag of Chinese food. Reid was hunched over his laptop at the desk, but he got up when she entered. "Tell me you got Kung Pao chicken," he said, coming over to take the bag from her.

"I did. Who's your best girl?"

"JJ."

"Oh ho, wanna try that again, Special Agent Not Getting Any Tonight?"

"Sorry, I meant the beautiful and brilliant Emily Prentiss, who is way too good for me."

"Damn right, and don't you forget it." She kicked off her shoes and flopped down on the bed. "Did you fix the thing?"

"Just about done," he said, cracking open one of the containers. He didn't need to ask if she'd brought him a fork. "You want some of this?"

"No, just some lo mein noodles. Don't eat them all."

"Okay," he said, around a mouthful of chicken.

She let her eyes fall closed for a few moments. "Nice to see Elle today. Kinda random."

"Yeah," he said, sounding uncertain. She watched him save his file and shut down the computer. He put down the Chinese carton, got up and sat on the bed next to her, propped up against the headboard. They said nothing for a few long beats. "Tell me I was imagining it," he finally said.

"You weren't. It started the minute she saw me."

"Damn," he muttered. "I was half hoping it was just me being oversensitive after too many years of profiling."

"It's not like we can shut it off. No, she was hiding something. She deflected personal queries, redirected the conversation back to me, and when she asked me if you were here with me, she seemed anxious, like she didn't want to see you. And when I told her you were on your way, she closed off her body language."

"She was too neutral with me," he said. "She was making small talk like we were strangers, and her expression was too controlled, as if she was afraid I'd see something."

"She was. You know her so much better than I do. If she wasn't expecting to see you, I bet she wasn't sure she could fool you for too long."

"Do you think it means anything?"

"I don't know. Maybe she's embarrassed about her career, or regrets leaving the BAU."

"Seemed like more than that."

Emily sat up. "Well, we can't do much about it now."

"What if she's in some kind of trouble?"

She twisted around to look at him. "We could ask Garcia to dig around a little when we get back."

He made a face. "That's a little creepy, isn't it?"

"Maybe."

He watched her putting her shoes back on. "Leaving?"

"Yeah, I'm going to go see if Werner Garrison is still downstairs. Hotch will kill me if I don't pick his brain when I have the chance."

"Still coming to my talk?" he asked. Emily smiled at the fake nonchalance in his voice, like he didn't want her to know that it was important to him that she be there.

"Of course," she said, leaning over him and tucking a stray lock of wavy hair behind his ear. "Front and center." He smiled sweetly at her, grasped her hand and kissed the knuckles. "See you there." He nodded. She got up off the bed, grabbed her jacket and went to the door.

"Em?"

She turned back. Reid was off the bed too, walking slowly toward her, hands in his pockets. He looked like a shy schoolboy. "What?"

He met her eyes. "I, uh…." He cleared his throat, shuffling his feet a little. "I love you. You know?"

She went back to him and put her hand on his cheek. "I know, honey. I love you, too."

He smiled at her, his eyes searching her face like he was looking for signs that she meant it. He pulled her against his chest and hugged her tightly. Emily wound her arms around his shoulders and tucked her head into his neck. No one would have suspected the strength that was in his rail-thin body, but she felt it every time he held her like this. He was her safe place, and she was his, and sometimes she wondered how she'd handled the job they both did before she'd had him. She never had to explain, not about anything. He just understood.


	2. Chapter 2

The doors to the large auditorium were already closed when Elle got there. A large placard set up on an easel nearby proclaimed the name and credentials of today's prime-time speaker.

**PSYCHOLINGUISTICS: TWO CASE STUDIES**

****

****Spencer Reid, Ph.D.****

 **

**Supervisory Special Agent, Federal Bureau of Investigation**

**Behavioral Analysis Unit**

**7:00-8:00 pm**

**

Of course, he had the primo time slot. Elle wasn't in the BAU anymore, but she still read the literature, and she knew that Reid's prominence in the field was on the rise. The FBI had begun to trot him out as a talking head, which Elle knew he probably hated. It wasn't only his achievements and expertise, it was the whole genius-prodigy angle. The Bureau loved a memorable personality. She'd seen him on Nightline once and been surprised at how confident and grown-up he seemed. A far cry from the awkward kid she'd known back in the day.

She slipped into the auditorium unseen and stood in the shadows; the lights had already been dimmed. Reid was being introduced; he got a hearty round of applause as he started his presentation. It was obviously one he'd given many times, he had it down to a science. Elle looked over the audience. The place was packed, with some people standing at the rear of the auditorium. A fair mix of official-looking people, cops, detectives, probably local FBI agents. Some academic types, criminologists, behavioral psychologists. And a few people that looked like…well, the only term she could accurately apply was 'fangirls.' Probably undergrads, criminology students, giggling over the handsome young profiler with the indie-rock hair.

She saw Agent Prentiss in the front row on the center aisle. Elle was a little embarrassed that she'd reacted with such surprise upon learning that Prentiss had married Reid, as if the concept was so out there as to merit shock and dismay. Truthfully, she was less surprised at the fact of their marriage and more that she hadn't known. She would have hoped that Reid would have sent her an announcement, if she no longer merited an invite. At least he could have shot her an email.

_Guess I really am ancient history in Quantico, after all._

She couldn't blame them. It wasn't as if she'd been burning up the bandwidth staying in touch, updating her former colleagues on her own life.

Running into Reid here had been a surprise. If she'd known he would be in attendance, she would have stayed home. The last thing she needed was him or Prentiss picking up on something while she was trying to fly under the radar.

She half-listened to Reid's talk, debating with herself.  _You should tell him. He could help you. You know he'd help if he could._

_I can't. I don't have anything to go on. Just a hunch._

_A hunch and some pictures._

_He'll just think your ego is bruised and your feelings are hurt, that you're not objective._

_No, I'm not objective. How can I be objective? My feelings are hurt. More than hurt. That doesn't make me stupid._

_But you feel stupid, don't you? Stupid for not having seen it sooner. Stupid for falling for the act. You need more to go on. Get more. Then take it to the BAU. They'll help, you know they will._

_I'll get more evidence. I have to be sure._

This decision made, Elle felt better.  _Maybe you could even go talk to them. Invite them for dinner. It'd be nice to catch up. No shop talk. Ask them about their wedding. Find out how Morgan is. Find out if anyone's heard from Gideon. Be…conversational. Have friends, like a normal person._

She refocused on Reid for the rest of the talk. He took questions for fifteen minutes, then there was applause, then everyone got up. Elle filed out with the crowd, stepping back to watch for Reid and Prentiss to emerge, waiting for a good moment to approach. It made her roll her eyes at herself that she was actually rehearsing in her head how to ask an old friend and his wife to join her for dinner.  _Have I become that reclusive that normal social interactions require advance preparation?_

Reid came out of the auditorium, laptop bag over his shoulder, and was immediately surrounded by well-wishers and question-askers and…groupies. She saw Prentiss step out of the way. She'd probably been through this a hundred times.

_I wonder what she's really like. She's always seemed nice enough. I've heard she's a good profiler. She must be all right if Reid married her._

Reid was fending off advances from some of the groupies. Prentiss was on the phone now. Elle waited until the crowd thinned, and Reid was left talking to one man. Elle recognized him. It was Vickerman from Fort Worth. Made sense he'd be there. He had a reputation for seeing serial killers around every corner. Prentiss had wandered over; it looked like Reid was introducing her. She saw a flicker of pride cross his face as he did so.  _This is my wife. Look, somebody picked me._

Finally, Vickerman bid them goodbye and left. Elle wondered if it would look weird for her to emerge from the shadows and ambush them with a dinner invite, like she'd been lying in wait. Now Prentiss had her arm through Reid's and they were headed back towards the hotel.

_Now or never._

She took one step out of her lurking spot, but then…the look on Reid's face stopped her. He was smiling down at Prentiss, a smirky little smile that she was returning.

_They have plans. Plans with each other. They don't get to go out together very often, they're taking advantage of being away from work._

The flirty expression on Reid's face as he looked at Prentiss only drove further home the distance she'd let grow between herself and the people she'd once called friends, even family.  _Spencer Reid, that awkward kid, is somebody's husband._

Elle stood there frozen for a minute, then faded back into the shadows. She turned and headed the other direction, towards the exit.

_When I have more to go on, I'll call him. Soon._

__

* * *

_  
_

 

After Reid's talk, Emily lurked in the background while he dealt with the dozens of people who approached him outside the auditorium. She watched as one, then another, then another woman came on to him. He stammered politely, his ears bright red, and tried to pretend he didn't notice their attentions while he gestured with his left hand…as if a wedding ring would put off the more determined comers.

Her phone rang. "Hey, JJ."

"Bored yet?"

"Eh, it's not so bad."

"Spence give his talk?"

"Just finished. I'm hanging back while he deals with the parade of groupies."

"You could help him with that."

"It's more fun to watch him flail."

JJ laughed. "Don't you get jealous?"

"Nah. I could take any of these bitches."

"Hell, yeah."

"What's up? Please don't tell me you need us back right away. I have nefarious designs on my husband tonight."

"No, back on Monday is fine. I just have to ask you something."

"What?"

"Can you guys take Henry next weekend? Will's favorite aunt is sick, and he wants to fly down to New Orleans to see her."

"Oh no, is she all right?"

"She had a minor heart attack. She's okay, but…well, Will wants to see her."

"Of course. Yeah, we can do that. When do you want to drop him off?"

"Friday night? We have a late flight."

"Spencer can drive you to the airport after you bring Henry."

"That'd be great. Thanks. I know it's short notice."

"Don't worry about it. We love having him."

She heard JJ clear her throat. "Oh, yeah?"

Emily sighed. "Don't go there, JJ."

"At least tell me you've talked about it."

"Once. It...didn't go well."

A moment of silence. "I'm sorry, Emily."

She shrugged, then remembered JJ couldn't see her. "We'll work it out. If not...well, I'll deal with it."

"I know."

They said nothing for another beat or two. Emily shook herself. "Well, this is turning out to be a fun conversation."

"Sorry!" JJ chuckled. "I'll see you when you get back."

"Yep." She hung up. The crowd around Reid had dispersed, so she figured she could go claim him now. He was talking to one last attendee, an older man with the unmistakable bearing of a detective.

"...so from what you've told me, it sounds like you're looking at someone who knew the victim personally and had reason to hate him. I can't make an official recommendation without the complete file, though," Reid was saying as she walked up.

The detective looked puzzled. "You don't think it's a serial killer?"

Emily schooled her expression. One of the downsides of the increased visibility of the BAU, and profiling in general, was that sometimes an overeager local law enforcement officer was too quick to suspect he or she was dealing with a serial offender. They'd all had to talk someone down who was absolutely convinced they had the next Dahmer in their town when the details revealed a garden variety crime of passion.

Reid was wearing that sympathetic-but-dissuasive expression they all had to put on in these situations. "The fact that the weapon was left at the scene, his personal items were vandalized and the offender left without attempting to cover up the crime all suggest a personal-cause type homicide committed by someone in the grip of strong emotions. Only fourteen percent of murder victims are killed by strangers. Roughly a third of all homicides are the result of arguments or interpersonal conflicts. Of the remaining two-thirds, half are committed in the course of other felonious activity, and another quarter are gang-related."

"But...he was so cut up!"

Reid smiled sadly. "That only implies a high degree of rage, which is personal. You have to know someone to hate them that much. If you had a series of murders like this, there might be cause for concern, but this is an isolated incident. Look for someone who had personal reasons to harm the victim."

The detective nodded. "Yeah, I can see that. Can I send you a copy of the file anyway?"

"Sure," Reid said. He pulled out a card. "You can contact Agent Jareau, she handles our incoming cases. Tell her to forward the file to me." He turned partially toward Emily. "Detective, this is my wife, Special Agent Prentiss," he said. "Emily, this is Detective Vickerman from Fort Worth."

"Nice to meet you, ma'am," the detective said, shaking her hand. "You work in the BAU, too?"

"Yes, I do."

"Well...Dr. Reid here sure knows a lot."

"That's one way of putting it," she said, smiling up at Reid.

"You folks have a good night, now," the detective said, turning to go. They waved and watched him leave.

Reid exhaled mightily. "Are they gone?" he asked, looking around.

She put her arm through his and steered him back toward the hotel entrance. "The hordes have retreated. You are done for the night."

"But...I was going to...there's this talk later on, and…"

"Nope. You have plans."

"I do, huh? Sounds like  _you_  have plans."

"Plays for  _you_ , maybe." They got in the elevator. "Oh, by the way, JJ called. She asked if we'd take Henry for the weekend, I told her we would."

"Cool."

"Will's aunt is ill, they're going to fly down and visit her." Reid nodded. He looked a little preoccupied. They got off the elevator and went down the hall to their room. Emily shut the door after putting the Do Not Disturb sign out. Reid flopped down on the edge of the bed, dropping his bag to the floor. "You know," she said, sitting next to him, "we could take Labor Day weekend and go to Vegas."

He sighed. "You sure that's how you want to spend a holiday weekend?"

"You haven't seen your mother since April."

"I don't need to drag you along."

"You wouldn't be dragging me. I want to see her, too."

He looked at her, shaking his head. "I can't believe you sometimes," he murmured.

"Why?"

He moved closer and slid his hand over her knee. "You don't know what it means to me that you love my mother. I always thought that if I ever found anyone who could stand me for long enough to get serious, I'd have to hide my mother from her, or apologize for her, that it would embarrass anybody I'd be interested in or put them off, that they wouldn't understand."

"No," she said, quietly. "It wasn't just your mother. You thought that you'd have to apologize for everything about you, because people who didn't know any better made you think that was how it worked. I hope you know by now that it doesn't have to be like that."

He nodded. "I do. In my head. But sometimes that isn't enough, you know?"

Emily just put her hand over his. There was nothing she could do about how people had treated him in the past except to provide an ongoing counterexample. It made her angry to think about how the gifts he'd been born with had caused him so much pain: the bullying, the ostracization, the loss of the childhood he should have had. Sometimes she wished she had a time machine. She would go back and tell the boy he'd been the things he ought to have been hearing all along: that it would get better, that he was special, and that someday there'd be people who understood. There'd be people who accepted him, who valued him, and there'd be one in particular who loved him.


	3. Chapter 3

_two years ago_

__

* * *

_  
_

 

Emily glanced in the mirror again, hoping she wasn't overdressed. She'd never been so fidgety before a first date, but this one was different. She had no idea what to expect. This wasn't just some man she'd met, however she'd met men in the past. This was her longtime friend and coworker, Dr. Spencer Reid.

There were a million reasons why she should just call it off. That'd be the smart thing to do. That was what her brain was telling her she ought to do. But in the face of those million reasons to call it off there was one reason to go ahead with it – Reid.

_He's ten years younger than you, Emily. How's it feel to be a cougar?_

She shuddered with distaste at the word.

How she'd come to be going on a date with Reid had something to do with a serial child killer serving life without parole in Minnesota. A month before, she had accompanied Reid when he went to do a custodial interview with the man. She didn't have as much experience with custodial interviews as he did, so she'd asked Hotch if she could go along. He'd readily agreed, so off they went.

She'd always enjoyed traveling alone with Reid. Away from the rest of the team, he talked far more easily, and on a wider variety of subjects. For herself, being away from the others gave her free rein to express her geekiness without embarrassment. It wasn't like Reid could (or ever would) laugh at her for her near-obsession with "Dark Shadows."

Emily was already aware that at some point in the past, she wasn't quite sure when, she'd begun to find Reid attractive. She was tempted to laugh at herself. He was a tall, skinny nerd with unpredictable hair who dressed like a steampunk private investigator and wore old-man sweaters, his gun sticking out incongruously against the knit. But then every so often she'd look up and catch him in a quiet moment at his desk, or on the jet, reading or just thinking with the light skimming over his angular face, and he looked like something Botticelli might have painted. She'd begun paying a little more attention to office gossip and quickly learned that this was not a new or revolutionary notion. One consultation with Garcia had confirmed her suspicions.

"Oh, honey," Garcia had said. "You're surprised? There are plenty of women around here...and a few men...who'd love to take Reid home and do naughty things to him."

"Huh," she said, feigning puzzlement. "I didn't realize."

"Sure. Lots of girls go for the sexy-nerd thing. Me, I like my men buff and bald," she said, winking. "Why do you ask? You have someone in mind for our boy genius? It's been tried, he's not biting. Literally or figuratively."

She'd gone on her way and put it out of her mind. It wasn't too hard. There were plenty of men she found attractive in a theoretical sense. Morgan was certainly attractive. She found Hotch attractive, always had. Agent Anderson was pleasant enough eye candy around the bullpen. She'd just add Reid to the list. It didn't mean she wanted to ravish him, or that she had any romantic or sexual interest in him.

But then – Minnesota.

The custodial interview had gone better than either of them could have dared to hope. The prisoner had been very open, which wasn't uncommon. These men were caught, and would never leave prison again. There was no reason to continue hiding, and they often saw these interviews as their last chance to shock the world and gain notoriety. They'd spent hours with him, then gone back to the hotel with interview tapes and notes to hash over what he'd said.

They'd convened in Emily's room, starting off at the small table but soon outgrowing it. They ended up sitting on the bed, cross-legged and facing each other across a wide swath of crime scene photos, interview notes, witness statements and scribbled reactions.

Reid had been flushed with excitement. Emily watched as his brain spun too fast for her to follow, his voice pitching half an octave higher. "This is a psychopathology I've never seen, not in this way. Usually serials see their victims as objects, but he's describing them like they're  _pets._  That implies some degree of emotional attachment and caregiving, but we don't see that in his crime scenes."

"He kept them for weeks, taking care of them, but the disposal is extremely brutal," Emily said. She met his excited gaze. "Maybe the caretaking is part of the pleasure. Maybe what gets him off is making them feel at ease, cared for, and then brutally yanking it away."

He was nodding. "That's interesting. Like he enjoys the bait-and-switch. It could be a result of his years in foster homes. Each one presenting the new hope for love and acceptance, and each one disappointing him."

"Maybe he gets off perverting his victims' hopes that they'll survive by building them up and then knocking them down."

"Then he has to punish them for being so gullible with a brutal disposal!" he exclaimed. "We could spend weeks untangling this guy's profile," Reid said, his eyes passing quickly back and forth over all their new material. "We are  _so_  writing a paper about this," he said.

"A paper? I'm not much of a writer."

"Don't worry about it, I'll do the writing, but we'll analyze his questionnaire together. We don't know as much as I'd like about his background, we should start researching that. It'll inform his motives."

She chuckled at Reid's enthusiasm, feeling a rush of affection for him. "Look at you. You're like a kid with a new toy."

He laughed, but it trailed off quickly. "Kind of a strange way to react to a serial killer, huh?" he murmured. He glanced up at her, his expression hesitant. She could see his discomfort all over his face.  _He's afraid you think he's a freak now._

"No, Reid," she'd said, gently. "It's exciting because this man's profile could help us catch others like him. The more we learn about him, the more we'll know about them. Discovering something unexpected is a thrill, no matter what the subject."

He met her eyes, looking a little amazed, like he couldn't believe she got it. "Yeah, exactly!" he said, breaking out into a broad grin. It took up the entire lower half of his face, transforming his whole appearance. Something stirred in her at the sight of it.

She smiled back. "You have a really fantastic smile. You should use it more."

He blushed. "I do?"

"Yes, you do." They just sat there looking at each other, and Emily could feel the ground shifting subtly beneath them, her dormant attraction to Reid knocking on the inside of her chest, suddenly not so dormant.  _He's sweet, he's handsome, Lord knows he's brilliant…why did you have him in the Not To Be Dated column, again?_  The moment stretched out just past comfort level. She couldn't look away. She saw his eyes flick quickly to her lips, and she knew what he was thinking, because she was thinking it, too. She leaned forward and met him in the middle, and she and Reid shared their first tentative kiss over a pile of pictures of dead children. His lips were soft and full and he smelled like a schoolhouse. One kiss, gentle and hesitant. A quick withdrawal, a check to each other's eyes, a silent exchange.  _Okay? Okay. Is this weird? Probably. I want to kiss you again. I want you to._

They both smiled, the slow shy smiles of people about to become new to each other, and kissed again. This time Emily felt his long fingers cup her cheek, then slide into her hair. Her hands reached out for him on their own, finding his shoulders, gripping his shirt as the kiss tilted and drew her in. She scooted forward, her knees crushing the crime scene photos, and all she could think was  _damn, he's a good kisser._  Where had he learned it? Could you learn to kiss out of a book? Who had he been practicing on? She was suddenly intensely curious about that.

He rose to his knees and pulled her close, his hands going to her waist. She hung on to him with both arms around his shoulders, bent back a little because he was taller, then slid one hand up into his hair to pull him closer still. Kissing him felt so natural, the pull of his lips against hers, their mouths opening to each other, hands becoming more demanding – until they abruptly jerked apart, reality intruding on the moment.

They didn't say anything at first, still kneeling there on the bed with their arms around each other.

Emily finally got it together enough to speak. "Whoa."

He nodded, looking a little stunned. "I'll see your 'whoa' and raise you a 'damn.'"

Emily laughed, the tension broken. She felt them both relax – the world hadn't ended after all. They sat back down, the disarray of their files and interview notes all around them. They were sitting a little closer than they had been, and Emily kept her hand on his leg. She didn't want him to think she was backing off completely, en route to one of those "we'll never speak of it again" conversations. She didn't know what was going on in her head, or what she wanted, but she knew she didn't want to pretend it never happened. Could one kiss…okay, two…redefine someone in your head in the space of two minutes?

Reid lifted his eyes to hers, a sweet, shy smile on his face, one hand rising to tuck his hair behind his ear as she'd seen him do a thousand times, the gesture just as endearing now as it ever was. Their eyes locked and held for a moment, and she saw something new lurking behind his, letting her know that whatever had happened in her head, it had happened in his, too. "Okay," she finally said. "Let's gather all this stuff up and put it in order. I'm wiped out."

He nodded. "We can talk about the profile some more back at Quantico."

"When's our flight?"

"Takes off at nine."

"So we'll have to be at the airport by eight," she said, sighing. "I hate flying commercial." They were both up off the bed now, gathering all their materials.

"Just stuff it in the folders, I'll sort it out later," Reid said.

"Come by at seven, we'll get breakfast downstairs first."

"Okay." He put the files in his bag and Emily walked with him to the door. He had his hand on the knob before he paused, took a deep breath, and turned back. "Emily..."

She shook her head. "It's okay."

"I'm sorry if I was..."

She held up a hand, cutting him off, then stood on tiptoe and placed a kiss on his lips, quick but deliberate. "I said it's okay." She put her hand on his chest, a gesture just a shade too intimate for friends-only coworkers. "I'm not sorry."

He searched her face with those giant, dark eyes like he was looking for the truth underneath her skin. "Me neither," he finally said.

Their flight home had been uneventful. They'd passed friendly conversation, nothing more, although she thought she saw a bit of a twinkle in his eye when he looked at her now.

Back at the BAU, normal life resumed. They had a new case right away and had no time to talk to each other...but without it being discussed, a covert and nonverbal courtship had begun right under the noses of their fellow team members. Riding in an elevator with the team, they stood side by side at the back. Emily felt Reid's little finger brush hers, then he hooked them together like they were pinky swearing something, both of them keeping their eyes front. At a police station in Tempe, looking over his shoulder as he analyzed a letter to the police from their UNSUB, she glanced around to make sure they were unobserved before she put her hand on the back of his neck while he explained about the slant of the penmanship and the force of the pen strokes. She'd left it there for a few seconds, letting it slide away when she answered her phone. Bringing her a latte when he went on a coffee run, letting their fingers brush when he handed it off to her, dropping a near-imperceptible wink at her when she looked up to acknowledge the touch.

This went on for days. A glance as they passed each other in the hall. A quick clasp of hands in the parking garage before parting to their respective cars. His hand on her side as he helped her with the straps on her Kevlar, lingering just a beat too long. A loaded look as they both stood outside a suspect's house, guns drawn, preparing to swoop in.  _Please be careful. You're important to me in a way that's new._

Finally, on a Thursday afternoon back at the BAU, she got a text message from him.  _Meet me in the file storage room._  Sneaking to the little-used room, looking over her shoulder, keenly aware of being surrounded by profilers. Unlocking the room and slipping inside, locking the door behind her.

She jumped when hands fell on her shoulders. "Shhh, it's just me!" he whispered.

She turned around and slapped out in his general direction. "Don't sneak up on me like that!"

"Sorry, I thought 'sneaking' was kind of the order of the day."

Emily didn't feel like talking. She reached out and grabbed the front of his vest. "C'mere," she said, pulling him to her. He bent his head and kissed her, making it clear that he'd been wanting to do this again just as much as she had. "What took you so long?" she finally whispered, sneaking the words in between kisses. "It's been two weeks since Minnesota."

"I was giving you space," he said. He was now kissing his way down her neck. A little groan escaped her and her head fell back. She grabbed him and dragged his lips back to hers, swept her tongue into his mouth and didn't let up until she was sure he got the point.

"Does it look like I want space?" she finally said.

He didn't answer at first, just stood there breathing hard with his forehead against hers. Finally he seemed to refocus and stepped back, hands on his hips. "I didn't ask you to meet me here just for that."

"Okay. What is it?" She had to concentrate on caring. She really just wanted to be kissing him again.  _Get a grip, Prentiss._

"If there's something going on with us, I – I don't want it to be like this," he said, gesturing vaguely all around him. "Hiding in storage closets. So tell me. Is there something going on with us?"

Emily didn't really have to think about it. "Yes."

He squared his shoulders. "Then…I'd like to ask you out on a date. Like normal people."

She couldn't help but grin. "A date? Like dinner and a movie?"

"I don't care what we do, as long as it's just you and me. What do you say?"

She looked at his earnest face and knew the answer right away. "I'd like that."

He'd exhaled in relief. "Good. How about tomorrow night?"

"Okay."

"I'll pick you up at seven."

She wrinkled her nose. "I'm going to have to ride in your car, aren't I?"

"My mother raised me to be a gentleman," he said, smirking.

"So...is that all you wanted to talk about?" she said, taking hold of his tie and pulling him toward her again.

"Mmm hmm," he nodded, his eyes going half-closed and hazy as he looked at her.

"Can we get back to it, then?" she said. He agreed. Enthusiastically.

And so that was how Emily Prentiss came to be sitting in her living room, nervous as hell, waiting to be picked up for her date with Spencer Reid, Ph.D.


	4. Chapter 4

_two years ago, cont'd_

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* * *

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She jumped when the knock came, then rolled her eyes at her own skittishness.  _Just Reid, just Reid,_  she kept repeating to herself as she got up to answer it. Except it wasn't just Reid, not really. This was a man she knew and cared for, a man who played a well-defined part in her life, here now to audition for a new and larger role, one that had potential for a lot more screentime and possibly even top billing. She opened the door, smiling. He was standing there with his hands in pockets, looking...  _Good. He looks damn good._  Dark blue button-down open at the collar and a jacket that didn't appear to have come from Goodwill. He was even wearing jeans, which he seldom did. After much debate with herself she'd worn a gray pencil skirt and a blue top with a draped neck. She saw his eyes flick up and down her body. "Hi," he said.

"Hi."

"You look beautiful."

She could only blush and smile as she motioned him inside. "Come in, let me grab my purse."

He followed her in and hovered by the kitchen while she got her bag and a jacket. "Nice place."

"You've been here before."

"I know, but…" He made a vague gesture around. She knew what he meant. There had to be placeholder conversation right now, something to fill the void until they got the feeling for how the space between them had shifted. She hesitated over the jacket, wondering if she'd need it. "Where are we going?"

"That is for me to know and you to find out."

She sighed, exasperated. "Come on, Reid. Cut me a break."

He arched one eyebrow. "We're on a date, Emily. Do you think you could call me Spencer?"

She grinned. "I think I can manage that."

He took her to a crazy little hole-in-the-wall restaurant near his apartment that served a seemingly random assortment of Hungarian and Thai dishes. The place was decorated with kids' finger paintings, old LP sleeves and half-broken strings of Christmas lights; to someone else it might have seemed like a dive, but when they walked in everyone greeted him, and the owner's wife treated them like her own kids. Before Emily realized that they hadn't actually ordered, they were being served big plates of paprikash and pad thai, and poured out glasses of exceedingly cheap house wine. They sat and ate off each other's plates and talked about Bureau politics, indie rock music, the ridiculousness of "CSI" and whether Morgan had ever slept with Jordan Todd. They didn't talk shop, and it was wonderful. She was delighted to discover that Reid was an Andrew Bird fan, and he was impressed by her ability to recite parts of "Neuromancer" from memory. The owner and his wife got into a screaming argument about something involving a shipment of napkin rings which devolved into unintelligible insults, then they seemed to make up and began singing a badly out of tune duet of "Girl from Ipanema." Emily got the giggles and Spencer had to pound her on the back when she accidentally inhaled a mouthful of wine.

They left amidst many admonishments by the owners for Young Doctor Spencer to return soon with his pretty lady friend. They walked up the street to Spencer's car, holding hands. It felt easy and comfortable to do so. "Is that what I am?" she said. "Your pretty lady friend?"

"Well, 'pretty' is an understatement," he said.

"Awww, listen to you. Feeding me lines like a player."

"It's not a line, and I think players everywhere just collectively groaned at the notion that I might remotely be one."

She smiled up at him. "I think that's the most fun I've ever had on a first date," she said.

He looked pleased with himself. "I thought you'd like that place. I go there when I don't have much time, which is all the time. Olek and Hilda consider it their duty to feed me because I'm too skinny for their tastes."

"By the looks of things, Al Roker would be too skinny for their tastes."

"You're not wrong. But we're not done yet, so I hope you still feel that way about this date after our next stop."

"Where are we going? No, don't tell me. For you to know and me to find out."

"Well deduced, Agent Prentiss." They'd reached his car. He opened the door for her and went around to get behind the wheel.

"You are an infuriating date, Dr. Reid."

He just smirked and drove off. They didn't speak during the drive, there was no need. Emily felt perfectly at ease. Her butterflies from earlier had flown, and now she was just here with Spencer, a man she knew well but in some ways did not know at all, but if anything was clear it was that he was not a different person just because this was a date. She'd always known that he was one of those rare souls without guile; he did not wear different masks for different people. He was quite simply always himself, no more and no less. He lacked the ability to put up a front to fit in, which had brought him grief in some quarters, but she liked that about him. He was sincere in a way that most men seemed to have forgotten how to be.

She had no idea where they were going, though. He was heading out of town toward Annapolis, but along dark country roads. He seemed to know the way well enough. Emily rolled the window partway down; the cool night breezes lifted her hair off the back of her neck and she shut her eyes, the smell of approaching fall filling her nose. She smiled, a contented sigh escaping her. She leaned her head back against the headrest, then rolled it to the other side so she could look at her companion. He was keeping his attention on his driving. There was no moon, but the dashboard lights bathed his architectural face in a ghostly glow.

He glanced at her. "You look relaxed."

"I am," she said. "I am perfectly and completely relaxed."

He spared her a longer look, smiling. "I'm glad." He slowed the car as he approached a dark, unmarked drive.

"Where are we going?" she asked again.

"Nearly there now."

"You know, this is exactly the kind of thing UNSUBs do to their unsuspecting victims."

He laughed. "Yep, you got me. I'm a serial killer."

"If you ever decided to be one, you'd be unstoppable."

They emerged from the tree cover and Emily sat up straight, her mouth falling open. Ahead of them, situated on a rise, was a large brick building like a mausoleum, with an unmistakable dome jutting from its roof. Reid pulled up to the front and stopped the car. Emily stared up at the building as he came around to open her car door.

"It's an observatory," she said.

"Yep. One of the Naval Observatories. It's not open to the public, but a friend of mine from grad school works here." The door opened as they approached and a stocky woman with long red braids emerged.

"Spencer!" she said, coming forward to hug him.

"Hey, Adrianne," he said, returning her hug. "This is Emily Prentiss, my, uh...my friend."

The smiling redhead shook Emily's hand. "Nice to meet you." She handed Reid a keyring. "You remember how to work everything?"

"Sure."

"Just don't break my telescope."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

"I'll be in my office, let me know when you're leaving."

"Okay." She preceded them into the building and vanished down a hall. Spencer took Emily's hand and led her to a wide circular staircase. Up and up they climbed, until they reached a black door, the threshold six inches up off the ground. He opened it, stepped inside and helped her through.

Emily's mouth was still hanging open. They were inside the dome of the observatory. Above them, a wide swath of the ceiling was opened to the skies. It was pitch dark; strings of small red lights provided barely enough ground lighting to see where you were going. She could just make out the massive, dark bulk of the telescope, aimed high into the night. She hung on to Spencer's hand tightly, wishing she hadn't worn heels as they made their way across the room to the metal-grate stairs that led further up to the deck where the telescope sat. "This is amazing," she whispered.

"You don't have to whisper," he stage-whispered back. He climbed up the stairs, leading her by the hand, until they were standing at the base of the telescope. "Stay right here," he said, stepping away.

"Oh, I'm not going anywhere. I can barely see my hand in front of my face."

"Your eyes will adjust," he said, returning with a flat electronic something-or-other about the size of a notebook. He hit a few keys and suddenly the telescope was moving. Emily jumped a little, then Reid was at her side again as they waited for the telescope to refocus wherever it was he'd directed it.

"Okay," he said after it stopped moving. He leaned forward and peered into the eyepiece. "Here. Look." He guided her forward and put her hand on the eyepiece so she could find it with her eye.

Emily looked and there, right before her eyes, was the planet Saturn. She sucked in an amazed breath. "Oh my God," she breathed. It looked enormous, crystal clear like a picture out of a book. The rings around it shone brightly, tilted on their side a little, and it was  _right there._  "It's hard to believe that's really real," she said.

"Galileo was the first to observe the rings, but he thought they were associated planets or moons," Reid said. "Dutch astronomer Christiaan Huygens was the first to suggest that the changeable dots near Saturn were actually rings, which altered their appearance based on the observer's angle of incidence. Did you know that ancient astronomers used mnemonic phrases to lay claim to their own discoveries? Galileo's for Saturn's rings was  _Altissimum planetam tergeminum observavi_ , which means 'I have observed the most distant planet to have a triple form.' This he rearranged into a meaningless anagram as a way of marking the discovery as his own." Emily looked at him. Her eyes were definitely adjusting to the dark; she could see him pretty clearly now. He looked down at his shoes, realizing he'd gone off on another Spencer Explains It All speech. "Sorry."

His crestfallen face tugged at her. He was always so eager to share something of what he knew. He found everything fascinating and only wanted others to be a part of it, and people were constantly telling him to shut up. "What are the rings made of?" she asked.

His face lit up. "Mostly ice, with some rocks and dust thrown in. The particles that make up the rings range in size from a fine powder all the way up to the size of a car. Did you know that Saturn has sixty-one known moons? You can see it with the naked eye, too." He took her by the hand, pulling her away from the telescope so they could look directly up into the sky. He pulled her close to his side, tilted his head toward hers and pointed up. "It's that bright, sort of yellowish one that's not really a star, so it doesn't twinkle."

Emily looked. She stood on tiptoe and tipped her own head close to his so she could see where he was looking and pointing. "Oh, I see it!" she said, feeling absurdly excited. She was afraid to look away in case she wouldn't be able to find it again.

After a few moments she became aware that Reid was not looking up at Saturn, but down at her. She tore her eyes away from the heavens to meet his gaze, his profile silvered in the dim starlight. There was an expression in his eyes that made her breath catch. His jaw clenched, then he raised a hand to her cheek. She did nothing, just waited. His hand slid around into her hair, then he leaned forward and kissed her, decisive and intentional, scooping her up against him and pulling her to her tiptoes. Emily didn't think or debate, she just kissed back, winding her arms around his neck and pressing herself close.

They stood there for some time, under the open dome of the observatory, learning how to kiss each other. Weeks, months and years later, Emily Prentiss would look back and realize that this was the moment she fell in love with Spencer Reid.

* * *

The drive home was quiet, but laden with undercurrents. They kept their own silent counsel, not touching each other, Reid watching the road while Emily looked out her window. The next stop would be her home, and a decision would have to be made. She badly wanted to invite him in, into her house and yes, into her bed, but she was preoccupied with the reasons she shouldn't do so.

_Too young for you. Co-worker. FBI regulations. The Wrath of Hotch. The awful idea of losing his friendship if it didn't work out._

These were all legitimate concerns. But they were tiny voices compared to the shouts of all the reasons to ignore them.  _Romantic. Brave. Smart. Good-hearted. Sincere. That Botticelli thing._

_And he gets you._

She shut her eyes and sighed.

They pulled up to her building. Reid killed the engine and for a moment they just sat there. Finally he got out, opened her door for her and walked her to the building. She made her move before he could attempt to kiss her goodnight and flee. "Come in for a coffee." He couldn't say no to coffee.

He blinked. "Okay."

She unlocked her door and held it open for him. She kicked off her shoes right away, sighing in relief. "Decaf?"

He stopped and looked at her, a bemused expression on his face. "Hi. Spencer Reid. Have we met?"

"Sorry," she said, chuckling. She got out the coffee beans, the grinder, and her cafetiere. He watched with approval.

"You grind your own beans. And you use a press! I wouldn't have pegged you as a coffee snob."

"I restrict my coffee snobbery to this apartment."

He wandered into the living room to her picture window. "This is an amazing view," he said, looking out towards downtown DC. "My apartment overlooks a charming alley, where stray cats go to have yowling contests at three a.m."

She put the grounds and hot water in the cafetiere to steep and joined him at the window. "It's not quite the view you gave me tonight at the observatory, but it'll do."

He smiled down at her. "You liked that? I was afraid you would think it was too nerdy."

"Well, I'm a nerd, and I loved it. It was perfect. It was kind of...magical."

"Adrianne will sometimes call me if there's something amazing that'll only be visible for a few days. I can sit at that telescope and stare into it for hours. I knew I wanted to take you there."

"Thank you," she said, taking his hand. "It honestly was the best first date I've ever had."

"Me, too." He watched her face for a moment, then bent and kissed her, a soft kiss that made no demands. Emily looked at him as he pulled back, and just like that, her mind was made up. She smiled and took his other hand, then walked backward away from the window, pulling him along. "What?" he said.

She turned and began leading him up the stairs to the bedroom. "Come on."

"Emily...are you sure?"

She pulled him through the door and turned around. "Positive." Their eyes locked and held for a moment, and then they fell together into a kiss, a real one this time, seizing each other with intent. Gone were the exploratory, well-controlled kisses they'd shared so far; this was a different animal, one that growled and might bite if you showed fear. These kisses  _were_  making demands, demands for more – more contact, more skin, more of each other. She gasped into his mouth when his hand slid up her chest to cup her breast, his other hand slipping beneath the hem of her shirt to touch the skin of her back. She pushed his jacket off and let it fall to the floor, then went to work on his buttons.

"Spencer...are you...you're not..." She couldn't quite get the question out because he kept reclaiming her lips the minute she tried to get a word in.

"A virgin?" He pulled back and stopped kissing her for a moment, his hands still roaming her body. He looked away, his lips pressing together. "Look, I know people – and by 'people' I mean 'Morgan' – assume that a guy like me is inexperienced."

"I never assumed that," she said.

"You asked."

He had her there. "Yeah, I did."

"It's okay. I know how people see me."

"I don't think you do. And anyway, what do you mean, 'a guy like you?' You mean handsome, smart and charming?"

He blushed a little. "I've had women claim to find me attractive. I don't know what they're seeing."

"I'm one of those women. And I'm not alone." She leaned forward and kissed his neck, feeling his flesh flutter beneath her lips.

"Well, I'm not a virgin. I dated in grad school, and since I've been at the Bureau." She gave him a look. "No one we work with," he said, smirking. He kissed her again. "It's been awhile, though."

"For me, too." She could feel how long it had been in her body's reaction to him. She couldn't seem to touch him enough. She needed at least five or six more hands.

"We're busy people," he said, his voice muffled against her skin.

She nodded. "Very busy."

He pulled back. "Maybe we should make up for lost time."

"Oh, hell yeah," she said, and grabbed him. He wrapped both arms around her waist and lifted her a few inches off the ground, then walked with her to the bed. She felt the backs of her knees hit the edge and reached back with one hand, dragging him down with the other. They somehow got themselves across the bed and Emily shivered with arousal as he settled over her, pressing her down into the mattress. She wound her legs around his, her skirt riding up her thighs, one of his hands slipping beneath the hem to touch her skin. She finally got his shirt open and yanked it off; she sat up a little so he could pull her shirt off over her head.

His hands were shaking. It was a little strange to see him with his brain out of the driver's seat, his desire for her obvious on his face – not to mention against her hip. It gave her a rush of female power up her spine to know that she could do this to him, she could make buttoned-down, cerebral genius Spencer Reid lose the ability to speak while he touched her like he couldn't get enough. It was weirdly reassuring to know that he  _had_  those reactions, like any other man. He was human, after all. Sex with him wouldn't be pedantic, like one of his information dumps. It wouldn't be a detached experiment, with him pausing to take notes on her reactions, or a study in calculated techniques he'd gotten from a book. No, it was clear that Reid had red blood in his veins, and it seemed that he liked sex as much as the mundanes.

Not that he was the only one getting swept away. She felt heated through and limber, her hands greedy for the feeling of him. His touch was like a drug to her body, starved for contact as it had been for longer than she cared to remember. But it wasn't just the end of a dry spell, it was him. Those pianist's hands of his worked her body like clay on a potter's wheel; they seemed to be everywhere at once. Every time their eyes met there was in his a desire for her that he was finally letting her see, and it passed through her flesh to warm her bones and soften them until she felt like she was melting. He kissed his way down her stomach, his fingers slipping behind her back to unhook her bra and fling it away. "Jesus," she breathed as she felt her breasts against his chest, no clothing separating them. "Spencer..."

"Emily," he murmured, moving back up to recapture her mouth. "I want you," he whispered against her lips. "So badly."

"God, I want you, too," she panted, her hands going to his jeans.  _Dammit, button fly…_

He paused, letting her undress him the rest of the way. "Do you think maybe...we should slow down?"

She shook her head, grabbing his face for another searing kiss. "Plenty of time for that later."

This seemed to galvanize him. He kicked off his jeans and boxers, knelt up and pulled off her skirt and underwear. For a moment he just stared down at her naked body, his eyes big like he still couldn't quite believe they were here. She held out her arms and drew him back down to her. He settled over her, burying his face in her neck. "Do you really?" he breathed.

"What?"

He lifted his head and looked in her eyes, brushing her hair from her face. "Want me?"

She smiled. "Let me show you."


	5. Chapter 5

_later…_

__

* * *

_  
_

 

The only sound in the room was their breathing, fast and deep like they'd just run a mile. Emily was draped across his chest, spent. He had one arm slung about her shoulders, one leg hanging off the side of the bed, the sheets tangled around them haphazardly.

Her mind was spinning.  _Holy shit, Prentiss. You just had mad crazy sex with Spencer Reid._

_Yep, you did. And it was pretty damn awesome sex. Chew on that for awhile._

_I'd rather chew on him._

_Down, girl. Give him a few minutes to recover._

_Does he need it? He just did you twice in less than an hour._

_The perks of having a younger boyfriend._

_Boyfriend? Reid?_

_Hmm._

Reid took a deep breath and let it out. "You know what I'm thinking about right now?"

She lifted her head and propped it on her hand. "What?"

He smiled at her. "Absolutely nothing. And it's fantastic." He held her gaze for a moment, then leaned forward and placed a slow, lingering kiss on her lips. He flopped back onto the pillows. "I guess...I ought to go home, huh?" He didn't sound like he wanted to, but was unsure if that was what she expected.

"Hmm," she said. "Or you could stay."

He touched her hair. "Or I could stay."

She kissed his chest. "Good." She sat up. "I have to wash my face. God, my makeup is probably smudged all to hell, I bet I look like a clown."

"Not at all," he said. "I like this look. It's bold, it says 'I lost a fight with an Avon lady.'"

She slapped at him. "Shut up." She slid off the bed and went into the bathroom, bracing herself before looking in the mirror.  _Huh. Not as bad as I thought._  She retrieved a nightshirt from her closet, cleaned herself up and slipped it over her head. She dug in the linen closet and found a couple of new toothbrushes; she put one on the counter and brushed her own teeth.

When she returned to the bedroom, she had to laugh. Reid had apparently gotten up and re-made the bed so it was neat and tidy instead of rumpled to hell. Now he was sitting up against the headboard, primly covered to the waist, frowning at a book he'd found on her bedside table. He looked up as she approached. "You read Ann Rule true crime books?" he said.

"It's my brain candy. Some women read trashy romance novels, I read Ann Rule."

"Well...as long as you  _know_  it's crap." He smiled up at her as she sat down on the edge of the bed. "You look all scrubbed and shiny."

"You should feel honored. Not many see me without the warpaint."

He shook his head. "You don't need it. I like this better." He reached out and touched her face. "You're so beautiful, Em." His voice quivered a little. Emily didn't need to be told that Reid was shy about putting himself out there with women.

She thought he deserved a little reward for that comment. She leaned forward and put two fingers under his chin, drawing him forward into a deep, slow kiss. She took her time, trying to tell him without words what he'd just made her feel...what he'd been making her feel all evening, actually. Hands on each other's faces, they were content to kiss for a few moments, neither making any move to up the stakes.

Finally, he drew back. "Wow," he sighed. "We're never going to get any sleep at this rate."

"I'm good with that. No plans tomorrow."

"Me neither. Except..." His expression turned shy and he dropped his hands into his lap. "Maybe to spend it with you?"

She smiled. "I was thinking the same thing."

He sighed, relieved. "If I'd known this was going to turn into an all-nighter I'd have brought my go bag."

"I set out a toothbrush for you."

"Thanks." He swung his legs out of bed; she saw he'd put his boxers back on. He went into the bathroom. Emily went around the bed to the other side and climbed in, snuggling into the comfortable weight of the bedclothes, smiling at the knowledge that she wouldn't be alone in this bed tonight.

He emerged a few minutes later, shutting off the bathroom light. Emily reached out and put out the bedside lamp, plunging the room into near-total darkness. She felt the bed sag as he climbed in; she rolled to her back and waited. He just lay there. "Emily?" he finally murmured.

"Hmmm?"

"Can – can I hold you?"

The hesitance in his voice was heartbreaking. Such a contrast to his enthusiasm while they were having sex. Instead of answering him, she just turned over and tucked herself tight against his side, nestling her head down on his shoulder, one arm and one leg flung across him. His arms came around her, and she started drifting off almost at once.  _When's the last time you felt comfortable enough with a man to sleep in his arms, Emily? Who was the last person to share this bed that made you feel this secure?_  She was still trying to think of the answer to that question when she fell asleep.

* * *

Emily came back to bed from the bathroom. It was nearly nine o'clock, well past the time she would normally have risen, but she felt no great rush this morning. Reid was still asleep, sprawled on his back, arms flung wide, his face utterly peaceful. He looked dead to the world, like he hadn't slept in months. She'd had to disentangle herself from his arms when she rose and he hadn't made a sound.

She stood over him, wanting a moment just to look at him; he was asleep, so she didn't have to feel self-conscious about it. That face he drove around was tilted toward the light, which skimmed across his sharp angles and threw those flying-buttress cheekbones into dramatic shadow. The rest of him had been a pleasant surprise. She'd expected him to be bony, and he was, but there was some actual flesh there, some of which was muscle, and some of which had tone. His long, rangy body felt good in her arms, like he belonged there.

She got back in bed and decided he'd slept long enough. "Spencer?" she murmured. Nothing. She shook his shoulder. "Spencer!"

He jerked a little and blinked up at her, his eyes owlish and muzzy with sleep. "Whu...Emily?"

"Good morning," she said, smiling.

He rubbed a hand over his face. "What time's it?"

"Just after nine. You want some coffee?"

"Mmm. Coffee. Good." Sleep seemed to have reduced him to caveman levels of sentence structure. "Hey."

"What?"

"Your bedhead's pretty sexy."

She grinned and kissed him. He slid his hands up her arms, seized her and rolled her under him again. She yelped and laughed, but was cut off by his mouth on hers. She let herself get lost once more, pushing aside the conversation she knew they had to have, just a little more, just let me be with him a little while longer before reality comes crashing in.

They'd had sex twice the night before, and once already this morning. He'd woken her before seven with quiet kisses to the back of her neck. Without a single word, they had made love in the gray morning light, slow and languid, sighs and soft touches, losing themselves in each other's bodies while still half-asleep. The silent drowsiness of it had been more erotic than she could have imagined, and they drifted back to sleep after it was over, tangled together.  _I could really get used to this,_  had been her last thought before she'd dropped off. "I can't keep up with you," she said now, less than two hours later.

"Actually, you can. Women typically require far less recovery time after sex than men do, and are not nearly as likely to abruptly lose consciousness immediately after orgasm."

She shook her head. "Only you could manage to sound like a professor while talking dirty to me."

"Was I?" he said, frowning. "Talking dirty, I mean, not sounding like a professor, that I know I do. And if you're wondering if my age gives me some kind of advantage, it doesn't. I may be younger than you but I'm well past my sexual peak."

"Well, you could have fooled me."

"Really?"

"Couldn't you tell?"

He shrugged. "I never know how to tell, or what to ask, or even what to do. And women are not always truthful in these circumstances – or so I'm told."

"I wouldn't fool you that way. And believe me, it was fantastic."

Reid's face colored and he gave her a shy glance that made her want to have her way with him all over again. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." She kissed him and pulled back, letting her hand linger on his cheek. "You're beautiful, Spencer," she whispered.

His eyes searched her face, and she saw them mist over a little. "When you say that – I almost believe it."

She pulled him down into her embrace again, a little scared by how much she was already feeling, how invested she'd become after only one date.  _I could love this man. I mean, seriously._

They just lay there for a long time, not talking. "We can't avoid it anymore, can we?" she finally said.

He shook his head. "Nope."

"Hotch would have our heads if he knew about this."

"The Bureau's regulations about employee fraternization are case-specific. Hotch could look the other way if he wanted to."

"Would he want to?"

"I don't know." He wasn't looking at her.

"Spencer, I know what you're thinking, and forget it."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

She put her hand on his face and made him look at her.. "This isn't a one-time thing for me. Not with you. I want to see you again. I want to go with it and see what happens."

He swallowed hard. "Me, too."

"Okay, then."

He watched her face. "We'll have to hide it at work."

"We can do that."

"We work with a bunch of profilers and the biggest busybody to ever sit behind a computer."

"We're profilers, too."

He sighed. "It's not just that. They're some of my best friends. I  _want_  to tell them. I don't want to hide."

"We don't have to make some kind of grand resolution right now. Let's just play it by ear."

He didn't look totally satisfied, but he nodded. "Okay." He sat up and yanked the sheets off both of them. "Come on. Up. We're going out."

"Where?"

"I want to show you something."

* * *

They drove out to Alexandria, Reid deflecting all her questions by answering each one with a spiel of facts about whatever building or park they happened to be passing by. Finally she'd given up and sat quietly in the passenger seat, tossing him mock-angry, half-flirtatious glances.

He pulled into a residential neighborhood, relatively upscale, the streets lined with Tudors, Victorians and villas, each one unique. She wondered how much it cost to live here. Reid was slowing the car. He came to a stop in front of a building at the end of one of the streets. It didn't look like a residence, the wide steps leading to the front door had a municipal-looking handrail running up the center. It was bricks and timber with a tall chimney, cast iron flourishes, arches and...was that a turret? It was in pretty serious state of disrepair, but it was fascinating. "What's this?" she said.

"It's an old neighborhood branch library. It was built in the 1920s. I can't imagine what the architect was thinking. By the look of it, he couldn't decide on one style so he used them all. It was decommissioned a couple of years ago when a new branch was built not far away."

She got out of the car and looked up at it. "It's…I've never seen anything like it." He came around to stand next to her. "It's like a Gothic Tudor Craftsman."

"The inside is amazing, there are spiral staircases and stained glass windows and all this cool built-in cabinetry."

"You've seen the inside?"

Reid looked down at her, a smug smile on his face. "I own it."

She gaped at him. "You own this?"

"Yep. I bought it a few weeks ago. I'm going to live here."

Emily gaped up at the building, amazed – and yet not at all surprised. This was exactly the sort of building that needed to have an eccentric genius living in it. Its patchwork of styles and accidental charm was Reid all over, how he dressed, how he talked, and what he liked. Truth be told, she liked it, too – maybe that was why she liked  _him._  "Reid...how...they must pay you more than they pay me!"

"I had some money saved, and I came into some recently."

"You did?"

He sighed. "Remember when you and Garcia were investigating my father? He made good money but didn't spend it? Turns out he'd been socking it away in high-yield mutual funds for a long time. For me."

"Oh," she said, wondering how he felt about that.

"Yeah, I didn't know how to feel about it, either. He could put money away for me but he couldn't call? After I saw him that last time he wrote me and said it was time I had this money, in case I wanted to buy a house, or take a year off or whatever else I wanted to do." He hesitated. "It was a little over half a million dollars."

Emily gasped. "Holy shit." She was amazed not only at the figure, but that he was telling her this.

"I know, right?" He shook his head. "Part of me wanted to throw it back in his face, and tell him I didn't want his damn money." He was looking up at the library as he said this, his jaw clenching. Emily reached out and took his hand, which he gripped tightly. "But then I thought of my mom. I need to have some security, for her. It hasn't been easy paying for her care while trying to keep a roof over my own head."

"I know," she murmured. She'd often wondered just how he managed to do that on an FBI agent's salary.

"It's only going to get more expensive caring for her, not less. It'd be so much easier if I didn't have to pay rent. So I took his guilt money. If he feels better about himself because he gave it to me, that's none of my business. I found this place for sale and I had to have it." He smiled. "You should see where I'm going to put a library."

"Can we look inside?"

"It isn't safe right now. The building's in pretty bad shape structurally. I got it for practically nothing, so I can use most of the money to renovate. Morgan's going to help me do it frugally, so I'll still have some to save for my mom's medical bills. They've started on the subfloors already."

"It's amazing. I can't wait to see it when it's done."

He grinned. "Yeah. Me neither."

* * *

_now_

__

* * *

_  
_

 

Emily staggered up the back path with her laptop bag over one shoulder, dragging their suitcase behind her. "Thanks for offering to help with the bags," she said, sarcastically.

He was at the back door with the keys. "The last time I offered to carry something for you, you snapped at me."

"That was a sheet cake, it wasn't that heavy and you only wanted to carry it because it was for JJ."

"You're probably stronger than me, anyway." He opened the door and held it for her, reaching out and taking the suitcase from her as she entered. "All right, your majesty?"

"Oh, do shut up, darling," she muttered, moving past him. He followed her into the hall and then into the living room. She flopped down in a chair, letting her laptop bag slide to the floor. "Home sweet home."

He sat down on the couch and swung his legs up, stretching out. "The older I get the more I hate traveling," he said.

She sighed, looking around at the high-ceilinged room. "I love our house."

"Me, too," he said, the words nearly swallowed in a giant yawn.

She looked over at him. "Remember the first time you brought me by to see it?"

"Yep. Morning after our first date." He hesitated. "I kinda lied to you that day."

"About what?" she said, frowning.

"I said I'd taken my father's money so I'd have a home of my own, so I could take care of my mother."

"And?"

"That's all true, but – this might sound crazy, but I think way down deep, I bought this place for you."

"But...you bought it before we..."

"I bought it right after we came home from that custodial interview in Minnesota."

The light dawned. "Ohhhhh," she said.

"I know. Call it an attack of irrational optimism." He laughed softly, poking fun at himself.

Emily looked at him, sprawled on the couch like a teenager, all gangly limbs and hair. Falling in love with him had been easy, but just as she'd been warned, marriage was work. They were both stubborn, and they had polar opposite strategies for dealing with emotional upheaval – he expressed things, she bottled them up. He called it the Prentiss Lockdown. At times they got frustrated, they argued, they took things out on each other when they shouldn't.

But that was okay. Marriage wasn't supposed to be simple and trouble-free. Happiness didn't come easy. You had to scratch and claw and dig for it, and what you needed in a spouse was someone who'd scratch and claw with you, take up a shovel and help you dig. Emily wasn't worried that they occasionally drove each other nuts, because they were in this together. She was part of a team, every minute of every day, and even when they were apart she carried him with her, the security that she was his most important person, and he was hers. It was okay to get irritated, or say the wrong thing sometimes, because they knew they were safe inside the life they were building. Happiness might not come easy, but even on her worst days she _was_  happy, happier than she'd ever been, happy with him.

"Okay," she said, heaving herself out of the chair, these thoughts whizzing through her mind, barely registering. "Let's go to bed, Dr. Reid." She stood over the couch and held out her hand. He took it and let her pull him to his feet. "I'm beat."


	6. Chapter 6

"Well, well," Morgan said, grinning, as Reid and Prentiss walked in together on Monday morning. "Looks like you escaped the groupies one more time, kid."

Reid rolled his eyes. "How old do I have to get before I stop being 'kid,' Morgan?"

"You'll always be a kid to me."

"From where I sit, you have more in common with a kid than I do. Let's think…which one of us has a house and a wife and actual grownup responsibilities?"

"Hey!" Emily said, shooting him a glare across the glass divider that separated their desks. "Don't lump me in with 'responsibilities' like – property taxes or something."

She was giving him irritated-face but he wasn't fooled. He knew the difference between fake Emily-anger and the genuine article. "Actually, I think you cost more than the property taxes," he said, smirking. He ducked as she threw a pen at him.

"Oh ho, here we go," Morgan crowed, grinning. "I am not getting in between this."

JJ came into the bullpen, holding a stack of folders. "How was the conference?" she asked.

"It was fine," he said. "We ran into Elle Greenaway."

"Damn!" Morgan said. "How's she doing?"

"She seemed…a little distracted. Business is booming, I guess."

Garcia came bounding up, beaming. "The Unstoppable Prentiss-Reids are back!" she crowed. "Did you cut a swath among all the young female law enforcement professionals, my whisper-thin champion of all things knowable?"

"Oh, didn't we tell you guys?" Emily said, deadpan. "We're ditching both our last names."

"What?" Morgan said, frowning.

"Yeah," Reid said, picking up Emily's gauntlet. "We're sick of not sharing one and we can't decide which to use, so we're just going to pick a totally new one we'll both use. We've got it narrowed down to a few finalists."

"You're serious," JJ said, her eyes flicking from him to Emily and back again.

"Absolutely," Emily said. "We're either going to be the Gormenghasts or the Baudelaires."

"What happened to the Crowleys? I liked that one!" he said. She looked at him and that was it. They both dissolved into snickers.

"Oh, hardy har har," Garcia said. "See, this is what happens when nerds marry."

"You should try it, it's pretty awesome," Reid said, smiling at Emily. She winked at him.

"Did I hear you guys say you ran into Elle?" Garcia asked, perching on the edge of Reid's desk.

"We did. She says hello."

Garcia sighed. "Feels like a long time ago that she left."

"It was a long time ago," Reid said. "What is it now, five years?"

Garcia's phone rang and she flicked her headset. "Garcia." She listened for a moment. "Yes, sir…right away." She got up and waggled her fingers at them. "Good to have you two back." She turned and headed back to her office. JJ had gone up to Hotch's office and Morgan had wandered off to the coffeepot.

It was quiet for a few moments while he and Emily both sorted through the stacks of files on their desks. He looked up when he heard her chuckle. "Crowleys?" she said, shaking her head.

"Look who's talking, Mrs. Gormenghast."

Emily went back to her paperwork. "823," she said, quietly.

Reid felt a warm flush in his chest, as he always did when it was re-confirmed to him that no, it wasn't some cruel joke, she actually did love him. "824," he answered. He opened a file and the day's work got underway.

* * *

It was, for once, a calm day at the BAU. Spencer Reid was more than happy to plow through consultation files all morning. Hotch and Rossi were in their offices, JJ hadn't called them to conference, all was right with the world.

Except that he knew it wasn't. At any given moment there were anywhere from twenty to fifty active serial killers hunting for victims, and even that was just an educated guess. Somewhere, someone was being stalked, taken, hurt, killed. Somewhere children were being exploited and families were being destroyed. Sometime soon the phone would ring and like firemen they'd all slide down the pole into the jet and rush off to once again pick up the pieces of someone else's disaster, culminating in the arrest of an UNSUB who would, in all likelihood, be himself the culmination of a lifetime of disasters. There were too many dragons and too few knights.

Even knowing these things, the fact was that Reid had never been happier in his life. Sometimes it made him feel guilty when he looked at the human misery contained in these files, these victims and investigators calling out for his help, of which there was limited quantity. How could he feel contented in his work when it involved death and suffering? How could he be happy when so many others were losing their loved ones to violence? How could he feel grateful for the direction his life had taken when every day he looked into the faces of those whose lives had gone in the worst direction imaginable? Why did he get to wake up every morning next to a woman he loved deeply and who loved him in return when there were so many people rejected and alone, waiting for the chance to lash out and repay the pain the world had visited on them?

"Hey, kid," Morgan said, appearing next to his desk and interrupting his reverie. "Lunchtime, let's go."

Reid glanced at the clock. Where had four hours gone? It was almost one. "Yeah, all right," he said, getting up. "Where's Emily?"

"I'm right here," she said, coming up from behind him, holding a stack of files. "What?"

"You coming to lunch?"

She made a face. "I can't, I have a conference call in half an hour. You guys go ahead." She looked at Reid. "Bring me back something?"

"Sure." They exchanged a quick hand-squeeze, as much of a display of affection as they allowed themselves at the office, then he and Morgan headed for the elevators. Reid glanced at Morgan's half-smirk. "What?"

"You are so whipped, man."

"I don't understand that. How does it constitute being 'whipped' to do something considerate for my wife? Would it be better for me to act like an asshole all the time?"

Morgan blinked. "Not when the woman in question is armed, no." They headed towards the garage. "Where to?" Morgan asked, getting into his car. Having one's workplace in the middle of a military base didn't make for a lot of convenient lunchtime choices. They usually drove the 15 minutes into Stafford, where you could find just about anything.

"Deli," Reid said.

"Aw, man. I kinda wanted pizza or something."

"The only pizza nearby is that horrible buffet place. I'd rather lick the floor of the men's room."

"All right, fine." He pulled out of the parking garage and headed out. Reid squinted and put on his sunglasses. "So how was Dallas?"

"I told you how it was."

"You get in any romantic dinners?" Morgan asked, his eyebrows waggling. "With dessert?"

Reid sighed. "Yes, Morgan, we dined on oysters and caviar and then I covered myself in chocolate fondue, which was very hot, by the way, and said 'Come and get it.'"

Morgan burst out laughing. "That is a mental image I did not need."

"You asked." He paused. "I don't know. Going to conferences is a different thing since I've been with Emily. It's nice to have someone to hang out with in the evening. I'm just glad she's willing to come along."

"Well, you go along with her when she speaks at conferences. Why wouldn't she do the same?" Morgan said, smiling, his joking manner gone and replaced with sincerity. "Anyway, I'm sure she doesn't mind getting a few days away from the daily grind with her honey."

Reid shook his head. "You love this, don't you?"

"Teasing you about your lady? I'm in heaven, baby."

They got to the deli and ordered, Reid asking for a cobb salad to go for Emily. They sat down in a booth in the corner, Morgan with his pastrami on rye and Reid with chicken salad. Morgan dug in, but Reid was thinking about Dallas again, and the old friend he'd seen there.

"What's on your mind?" Morgan said around a mouthful of pastrami. "You're picking at that sandwich like a teenager on a diet, and believe me, the last thing you need is to go on a diet."

Reid glanced up at him. "I was just thinking about Elle."

"What about her?"

"I don't know, something was off about her. Her affect was wrong. Emily said that it seemed to her as if Elle got nervous when she heard I was there, like she didn't want to see me."

"Why wouldn't she want to see you?"

"Because I know her better than Emily does. I might notice something."

"Like what?"

"I don't know. She didn't want to talk about herself, that was for sure. She was…shifty." He shrugged and dipped a fry in Thousand Island dressing. "That sounds pretty vague."

"You think she's in some kind of trouble?"

"That's a big deductive leap to make."

"But you didn't ask her."

"No, I had to finish editing my presentation." He stared off into the distance for a minute. "I've half a mind to call her and ask what's up."

"Do it, man. If nothing else she'll know you give a shit. If she's got some kind of problem, maybe we can help."

"That's the thing. She knows we can help, she has to know we'd  _want_  to help. So why be so secretive?"

Morgan sighed, folding his arms on the table. "People change, Reid. She moved away, went out on her own. Maybe she's gotten used to flying solo. And you know how it was when she left."

Reid nodded. "It was like she didn't trust the job anymore. Didn't trust us."

"She might not want to confide in us."

"Maybe I'll call her. Not from the office, I'll make it more personal. You know. Hey, nice to see you in Dallas, sorry we didn't get to catch up more, tell me why you acted shifty."

Morgan smiled. "Don't know if I'd use those words, but yeah." He went back to his sandwich. Neither spoke for a few minutes as they ate, checking their watches for the time they'd have to head back to Quantico. "Oh hey!" Morgan said, abruptly.

Reid's eyes widened. "What?"

"You got an anniversary coming up here pretty quick, don't you?"

"Next month."

"Now, you do know that the first anniversary's the most important, right? It sets the tone for all the ones that follow. This will let her know if you're going to be one of those guys who forgets, or remembers."

Reid gave him a look. "Somehow I think Emily knows that I won't forget."

"But she'll find out if she can expect a card and a kiss on the cheek, or something more substantial. What are you going to get her?"

"Umm…"

"You have thought about it, haven't you?" Reid's mouth opened and closed, but nothing came out. "Oh, man. You have got to get on that."

"Well, what's the first anniversary? Paper or something?"

"No, no. That's for other people to get you gifts. You, the husband, have to get her something nice. It's been a good year, hasn't it?"

Reid smiled to himself, hoping Morgan would someday be lucky enough to have a year as good. "Yeah, it has, despite being shot for the second time."

"Then pony up the dough, man. Jewelry. You can't go wrong with jewelry."

"Emily's not much for jewelry."

"Okay, something else. Art. Furniture. A trip. Something…with style," he said, spreading his hands and grinning.

"Style. Right," Reid said, blankly. He sighed. "I'll think of something. And don't you go emailing me links to Derek Morgan's Hot Gift Ideas. I'm not getting her something because you told me to."

Morgan smirked, looking away. "I know what she's getting you-ou," he sing-songed.

"Oh God," Reid said, dropping his head into his hands. "How hard is it going to be for me to match it?"

"I'll only say that she put a lot of thought into it. It's personal. So do with that what you will."

The rest of lunch passed in a series of jabs and parries at each other, as usual. By the time they left the deli, Reid carrying the takeout bag with Emily's lunch, his worry about Elle had retreated to the sidelines.

By the time a few days had passed, he'd let it slip away.


	7. Chapter 7

_one week later_

__

* * *

_  
_

 

It was a long flight to Seattle. They'd gone over the case in the first hour and a half, and now they were just passing the time until they landed. Morgan was slumped in the corner with his headphones on. Rossi was reading a book, Hotch was buried in paperwork. Reid, Emily and JJ were sitting around the table. Reid and JJ were playing double solitaire. Emily had fallen asleep with her head on Reid's shoulder, pillowed by a folded blanket. He wasn't surprised. They'd had Henry all weekend and that was always tiring. Getting up at six a.m. with a rambunctious four-year-old and finding ways to entertain him all day was exhausting.

Reid saw JJ glance at Emily and smile. "Sometimes I'm jealous," she said, pitching her voice low so as not to wake her.

"Jealous of what?" he murmured back, drawing from his deck and putting down a king in one of his vacant slots.

"These cases we work – the idea of having someone to curl up with in that lonely hotel room is very appealing."

He nodded. "Yeah. That part is nice."

JJ frowned. "Other parts aren't nice?"

He met her eyes. "You think it's easy for me when she's out kicking in doors with Morgan and Hotch? Or for her when I am? We confront these people. Sometimes they try to hurt us, and sometimes they succeed." He looked down at his cards. "We pretend it doesn't bother us, because we want to stay on this team together. Hotch stuck out his neck to make sure we could. I'm not about to jeopardize that by admitting that sometimes I'm thinking about her and not about the case."

"You're admitting it now."

He smiled. "I trust you with that."

"It's not like you're the only ones. Sometimes I'm thinking about Henry and Will instead of the case. Nobody can shut off the part of their brains that worries about their loved ones."

"I just don't want to give anyone the impression that either of us is impaired in our ability to do our jobs because of this," he said, waggling his left ring finger.

She was watching him. "If you hadn't been outed by circumstances beyond your control – when would you guys have told us you were seeing each other?"

Reid sighed. He'd asked himself the same question a hundred times. "We would have had to eventually. We sure couldn't have hidden being married."

"How long would it have taken?"

"I guess we'll never know."

* * *

_twenty months ago_

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* * *

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Emily grit her teeth, the slam of the door still echoing in her apartment. She heard Spencer's footsteps as he stormed off down the hall.

_Goddammit. Stubborn, idealistic, manipulative son of a bitch._

She went to the sink and tossed in a half-full coffee cup, the clatter it made jolting her. She leaned against the counter, tears rising to her eyes in spite of herself. She didn't want to cry. She was  _angry._  And she was  _right._  She couldn't feel bad about having argued with her boyfriend when she was  _right._ Right?

_How many times can we argue about it before it tears us apart?_

She'd been with Reid now for four months, four wonderful, torturous months. Wonderful for every moment she got to spend with him alone, torturous for all the other moments she had to spend with him in front of the team. Moments when she had to hide how she felt about him, had to guard how she talked to him, how she looked at him. She'd become paranoid enough about it that JJ had actually asked her if she and Reid had had a falling-out because of how distant they seemed with each other. She could not tell JJ that the distance was self-preservation. She could not be too friendly with Reid without lapsing into the easy way they had of conversing when they were alone. She couldn't touch him, even in the most innocent of ways, without wishing that they were back at home, curled up together on the couch watching "Brazil." It had been very difficult not to blurt out the truth, not to confess to her closest female friend that no, they hadn't had a falling out, she was keeping her distance from him because she was sleeping with him damn near every night and furthermore, she was a little nervous about how happy she was feeling lately because it brought up all kinds of scary ideas that had words like "commitment" and "future" attached to them.

She hadn't told JJ because no one could know. And that was why they'd fought. It hadn't been the first time. He wanted to tell them, that was the problem. He wanted to be open. He said time and again that he'd transfer out of the BAU. He had a standing offer to teach at the Academy, he could take that. He could go work for the local CARD unit, they kept saying they'd love to have a profiler on their team.

She couldn't let him do that. The BAU needed him. She ought to be the one to transfer. Her skills were more applicable to other departments than his were. So if they came out about their relationship, she'd have to be the one to transfer, and she did not  _want_  to transfer. They couldn't tell, not yet.

That wasn't what made him angry, though. He got angry because that wasn't her real reason for not telling, and he knew it even if she wouldn't admit it. The real reason was that she was still waiting for it to end. She couldn't quite let herself believe that it would last, and telling their co-workers was a decisive action, the point of no return. "What do I have to do, Emily?" he'd asked, hurt and anger in his face. "I think we have something pretty good going here, and I know you think so, too, so what do I need to say to make you believe that I want this to work?"

But she couldn't quite bring herself to derail both their careers yet, not when she couldn't see the future. Despite what he thought, it wasn't him she doubted, it was herself. She'd never been able to make a go of it with the other men she'd been involved with, why should it be any different with Spencer? The idea of it ending made her stomach tie itself into knots. She was terrified of losing him, but that didn't mean she didn't secretly believe it was inevitable.

Then she'd really put her foot in it. He just kept pushing her, and finally she'd said "I can't justify breaking up the team and maybe wrecking both our careers on the off chance that we'll still be dating in six months!"

He'd recoiled, like she'd slapped him.  _Oh, mega-crap,_  she'd thought. That wasn't what she'd meant. Well, it was, but it wasn't what she wanted, or what she hoped. It was just her pessimism talking. He'd grabbed up his coat. "Well, now that you've decided our 'chances' are so slim, I guess there's nothing else to say," he said, and left.

_You are such an idiot, Prentiss. Go after him. You going to let the best thing in your life just slip away because you were too chicken to fight for it?_

_Damn him, he just wouldn't stop pushing. Can't he back off, just for awhile?_

_How long you want him to back off? Until the not-talking and the festering have actually broken you up? You just had to punish him for daring to want a commitment from you, any kind at all._

_That's what's scary. I want to give him that commitment. I want to give him everything. I don't know if I'm ready for the kinds of thoughts I'm having._

_So you made sure he was the bad guy. This is a familiar song, isn't it? Sing along, you know the words._

She flopped down on the couch and settled in for a good brood. Maybe there'd be a Bette Davis movie on TCM she could watch.

She was halfway through "Now, Voyager" when someone knocked on the door. She frowned – that couldn't be Spencer, he had a key. She muted the TV, got up and looked through the peephole.

_Huh. Weird._

"Morgan," she said when she opened the door. "What brings you out here?"

He looked unsettlingly serious. "Can I come in?"

"Uh…sure." She glanced around nervously as he entered, hoping one of Spencer's sweaters wasn't lying around.

He went into the living room, then turned to face her. "We need to talk."

"Okay. About what?"

Morgan took a deep breath. "About Reid."

_Play it cool._  "What about him?"

"I just talked to him. He called to ask me if I had my notes on the Wichita kidnappings. That was just a pretense, though. He wanted to tell me something but he didn't get up the nerve. He sounded upset." He held her gaze; he meant business. "Don't jerk me around, Emily. Something's going on with you and him."

"What makes you think so?" She wasn't really going to bother to deny it. Morgan was too observant by half, and he had a way of knowing about people's emotional hangups.

"Look, I know him, okay? Something's been up. He's weirdly happy, yet weirdly secretive. And you are distracted and holding him at arm's length at work."

"So?" she said, crossing her arms. She was beginning to resent the entire tone of this conversation.

Morgan looked away for a moment. "He doesn't do casual. He'll get invested."

"And?"

"Emily…" He paused and pinched the bridge of his nose, then continued in a gentler tone. "You're my friend. I care about you. But Reid..." His jaw clenched. "I love that guy like a brother. I won't stand by and let him get hurt."

"I don't want to hurt him," she said. "Why would you think that?"

"I don't think you'd do it on purpose. But I know that you're looking for someone to get serious about, have a family – so I don't know what to say. If you're just having some fun with Reid before settling down, that's none of my business, but he deserves to know the score."

Emily was half-angry and half-embarrassed. Part of her anger was on Spencer's behalf, because Morgan was right, she did want to get serious – someday – but it didn't seem to have crossed his mind that she might want to get serious  _with_  Reid, not after she was done with him.

_And wasn't it you who just drove your boyfriend from the house because he was talking serious? What happened to Avoidance Girl?_

_Morgan doesn't get to question my intentions toward him. I guess only I get to do that._

_Hearing someone else call your relationship a casual fling is a bit of a cold-water reality check, isn't it? Because it's not. Four months, Emily. Usually it's around this point that things start to fall apart with the men you date. Now is when you start using your job as an excuse, now is when they start not understanding what your work means to you. Now is when you cringe at the thought of meeting their family and friends, now is when they start withdrawing._

_But not this time. Not with Reid. Instead of pulling apart you're getting closer. Now is when you start wishing he didn't have to go home to his own place, now is when he tells you things he's never told anyone. Now is when you're not cringing but happy that he writes his mother about you, now is when you feel like you don't care if your parents approve or not._

_Now is when you're starting to see him in your future. Now is when you're starting to think he might_ _ **be**_ _your future._

She took a step closer to Morgan. "He's still a kid to you, isn't he?" she said. "He's still the guy who needs your advice to talk to a girl, the guy who boosts your ego just by existing and looking up to you."

"It's my responsibility to watch out for him."

"It is  _not_  your responsibility, Derek," she said. "He is not a kid, he's a grown man and he can take care of himself. But to you he's just a guy that I couldn't possibly be serious about."

Morgan took this in. "You're saying...what, exactly?"

She looked him square in the face. "This isn't casual for me. I love him," she said, quietly. It was the first time she'd said it out loud. She and Spencer had not said those words to each other, not yet. She knew he felt it, and she was pretty sure he knew that she did too, but it had never been voiced.

Morgan blinked a couple of times. "Yeah?" he said, sounding a little hopeful.

"Yeah," she said, laughing bitterly.

"Wow. Okay."

"Did it never occur to you, with all your insight that something was going on between us, that I might?"

Morgan met her eyes. "It should have." He sighed. "I thought you guys might have had a fight, maybe you dumped him."

She shook her head. "We did have a fight. The same fight we always have, about whether to tell." Morgan's eyes were full of understanding. She wouldn't have to explain all the implications to him. "Morgan…"

"I can keep a secret," he said, quietly.

"Don't tell Spencer you know."

"I won't. Anyway, he'd kill me if he knew I'd come over here getting all up in your face."

She smiled. "Yes, he would."

He touched her arm and turned to leave. She walked with him to the door; he turned as he reached it. "You know, he's pretty special."

She nodded. "I know."

"I always hoped he'd meet someone who really got that." He smiled. "You be good to him, okay?"

"I will."

"And he better be good to you. You're pretty special, too." Morgan hugged her, one of his fantastic Morgan bear-hugs, then left.

She shut the door behind him and the tears overflowed. The earlier fight with Spencer, her admission to Morgan about how she felt – it was all a bit too much. She stalked around the apartment, straightening pillows, swiping at dust, holding herself together until she couldn't do it anymore and just collapsed into her favorite chair, putting her hand over her face as she cried.

She was just getting herself calmed down when she heard the door open and shut, quietly. She lowered her hand and sat there, not moving. She heard his footsteps approach saw his shadow fall over her. He put his hand on her shoulder; she grabbed it and pressed her cheek against it.

Reid came around and knelt by her chair. "I'm sorry," he said, reaching up to brush away the tears on her face with his thumb. He looked a little puffy-eyed himself.

She nodded. "Me too."

"We can't keep arguing about this."

"I know." She scooted over and motioned for him to join her. It was a tight fit with him in the chair with her, but his arms were around her and that made it better.

"Every time you say you don't want to tell, all I hear is that you don't think we'll have to because this will all be over soon," he whispered.

She grabbed his face in her hands. "No, Spencer. I mean…I worry that it'll end, but not because I want it to. I just worry that I'll screw it up and lose you. I was afraid that I had, just now."

"No. I was angry at first, but I know formalizing anything, even if it's just telling our friends, scares you."

"It's never worked out with any man I've ever tried to get serious with," she said – and the minute it was out of her mouth, the obvious reason for that bloomed in her mind. "But…I think the reason it didn't is because…" She let out a shuddering sigh. "They weren't you." Her voice cracked a little. "Spencer…" She ran her thumb over his lips. "I love you. I'm in love with you. I should have told you ages ago."

She saw something behind his eyes break and come crumbling down. "I love you too, Em," he said. "I'm crazy about you and I'm sorry you had to say it first." He pulled her close and kissed her, deep and confident. Emily returned the kiss, grinning around his mouth, relief and happiness bubbling up in her chest. "So…we'll tell them?"

She nodded. "Yes. But we have to decide how, and when."

"We don't have to decide that right now, do we?" he said, his eyes hooded with other things he'd rather be doing.

"Nope. Right now I just want you to come to bed with me and stay there for at least a day."

He smiled. "I approve of this plan."

So they hadn't decided. Not that night, and not the next night, or the next week. The decision made to tell, there just didn't seem to be any rush to decide when. She knew that they were putting it off out of cowardice. Once they confessed, there would be decisions to be made. The team might be shaken up, there might be transfers. Why hurry?

In the end, it was taken out of their hands.


	8. Chapter 8

_nineteen months ago_

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The team was sitting in the roundtable room waiting for Hotch, who was uncharacteristically tardy. Reid was studiously not looking at Emily, a pastime at which he was becoming very skilled. It had been a month since they'd decided they'd tell their teammates (and their boss) about their relationship, but they kept putting it off. This week, next week, what was the difference?

Rossi and Morgan were talking about basketball. JJ was on her cellphone. Emily and Garcia were discussing the new receptionist downstairs that everyone hated. Reid kept quiet, staring at the open case file before him without really seeing it.

Hotch came in, looking grimmer than usual. "Sorry I'm late. Emily, can you step into my office for a moment? There's a phone call I think you should take there." Emily frowned and stood up. Reid watched her; her eyes flicked to his for just a quick moment, but enough for a brief nonverbal exchange.  _What's this about? I have no idea._  She left the room. "I'll be back in a minute," Hotch said.

Silence fell as the door closed. Everyone wanted to wonder aloud what was going on but no one said anything. JJ ended her cellphone conversation. Morgan had tipped way back in his chair and was staring at the ceiling. Garcia was asking Reid something he barely heard about a Deep Space Nine boxed set. "Huh? Sorry…I don't know," he said. Garcia looked a little doubtful but didn't pursue it.

Hotch came back in and sat down. Everyone looked at him. He didn't touch the folder before him. "We should wait a moment," he said.

So they waited. Five minutes went by.

Finally, the door opened and Emily came back in. Everyone was on their feet immediately, because it was clear something was very wrong. Her eyes were red and swollen; she'd been crying. Right now, though, she looked stony and controlled.  _Oh shit, she's in full Prentiss Lockdown._  Reid's gut twisted. He had to restrain himself from rushing right over to her. He hung back, one hand gripping the back of the chair he'd been sitting in to remind himself to stay put.

JJ and Rossi were at her sides. "Emily," JJ said. "What's wrong?"

Her eyes found Reid's and her face pinched in on itself, the Lockdown crumbling. "My father died," she managed.

A chorus of sympathetic noises and condolences went up from the group. Hands reached out to touch her shoulder, arms reached out to embrace her. Emily didn't take her eyes off Reid. He could  _see_  the moment when she said to herself,  _fuck it._  She pushed through all the offered hugs and words of comfort, walked past the other team members and right into his arms. He wrapped her up as she buried her head in his shoulder, letting herself wilt as soon as she touched him. She folded into him, her body trembling as she cried quietly. "Spencer," she choked out. He held her with one hand on her head, stroking her hair, his cheek against her forehead.

"Shhh," he murmured. "I'm so sorry. I've got you." He was peripherally aware of the rest of the team staring at them as he whispered meaningless platitudes and rocked her gently from side to side.

No one could possibly believe that this was a comforting embrace between friends.

He looked up at them. Everyone politely averted their eyes, except Hotch. Reid met his stony gaze. "Hotch…where does she need to be?"

Hotch sighed. "Her father died at home. If she wants to see him, she should go now."

Reid nodded. He bent his head close to Emily's. "Em, do you want to go to your parents' house now, or wait until later?"

She sniffed and lifted her head a little. "Now."

"Okay, let's go." She nodded, still clinging to him. He looked around at the team. "You guys should go ahead without me, I'll catch up." Everyone was nodding.

Rossi spoke up. "You stay with her, Reid. You two sit this one out, we'll manage." His eyes were sympathetic.

Emily let go of him enough for them to walk to the door. Garcia opened it for them. Hotch caught his eye as they passed him. "Reid…" he began.

"Hotch," he said, firmly. "Later."

Hotch seemed on the verge of arguing, then nodded and let them leave.

* * *

Penelope Garcia was about to jump out of her skin. The team had flown off to Denver; any time now they might be calling her for some assistance. Her friend Emily had suffered a terrible loss today; she wished there was something she could do to help. But most pressing on her mind was this morning's revelation that Emily and their boy genius had apparently been involved for some time, no one had known about it and there was no one here to talk about it with.

The minute the two of them left the BAU room, everyone was looking around at each other, trying to figure out who'd known. "Don't look at me," Morgan said.

"Me either," JJ said.

Garcia threw up her hands. "Well, if I didn't know, no one did."

"How long do you think this has been going on?" JJ asked.

Rossi put out a hand. "Come on. We don't know what's going on. We shouldn't speculate."

Hotch had his arms crossed over his chest. "Normally I'd agree, but this affects the team. If Reid and Prentiss are…involved…steps have to be taken."

"You can't break up the team, Hotch," Morgan said. "Why do you think they haven't told anyone?"

"It's not up for discussion in committee. I'll deal with it later. Let's get back to work."

So they had done just that, hard as it was to put recent events out of their minds. The team left for the airstrip, Garcia went back to her office, and the hours crawled slowly by.

She ventured out at eight for coffee. The lights in the conference room were still on. She set down her cup and went up the steps to the back door. She slipped into the room to shut off the lights, but stopped short when she saw the room wasn't vacant.

Reid was sitting on the couch by the wall, Prentiss asleep against his chest. He was leaning back against the arm, one foot on the floor and the other propped up on the couch. He looked up when Garcia entered, then lifted one finger to his lips in a "shh" gesture. His other arm was around Emily, lying between his knees with her legs tucked up and the fingers of one hand gripping his cardigan as if to make sure he wasn't going anywhere.

Garcia winced. "Sorry," she whispered.

Reid shook his head. "It's okay. She's exhausted."

She crept forward and sat down in a nearby chair, rolling it closer to Reid. "Poor baby," she said. "How's she doing?"

"All right." He leaned his head back and let his eyes fall shut. "It was pretty bad at her parents' house. Emily was in Lockdown…"

Garcia stopped him. "Lockdown?"

"Yeah. It's a defense. She puts upsetting things aside to keep herself in control. I call it the Prentiss Lockdown," he whispered. "But then her mother was in full dealing-with-it mode and it was like two positive ends of a magnet, they kept repelling each other until Emily lost it. She just wanted a little time to be emotional, but Elizabeth kept wanting her to get herself together and help with the arrangements. I've only met her mother twice and I had to run interference and tell her to leave Emily alone for a few hours. I came back here after dinner to go over the case. She showed up an hour ago and said she was just going to lie down in here until I was ready to leave. I came in and she was asleep…couldn't let her just lie here alone." He raised his free hand and brushed a stray hair away from her face.

Garcia thought she might melt into a little puddle. "Oh, honey," she murmured. "It's not just a casual thing, is it? You guys are in love."

He looked at her, surprised, then back at Emily. "Yeah," he whispered. "Is it that obvious?"

"Not till now. I might not be a profiler, but I can tell when a woman feels completely secure in her man's arms." Reid flushed and looked away, half-smiling. "When did this all happen?" she asked, gently.

"It's five months next week," he said, looking down at her like he couldn't quite believe it. "I never saw it coming."

Garcia lifted an eyebrow. "Didn't you?"

He glanced at her. "Well, I didn't think I did."

She watched her friend as he looked down at Emily's sleeping face. Emily gave a little jerk and her eyes fluttered open. "Spencer?" she murmured.

"I'm right here, Em," he said.

She took a deep breath and sat up, rubbing at her eyes with one hand, the other lingering on Reid's chest. She blinked and looked around, her eyes falling on Garcia. "Oh hey, Garcia."

"Hey, sweetie," Garcia said. "I'm so, so sorry about your dad."

Emily drew a deep, shuddery breath. "Thanks." She looked down at Reid. "Can we go home now?"

"Which home?"

"Yours."

"Sure. Let me call Hotch and get the files together so we can look at them later. I'll be right back." He swung his leg out from behind her and started to get up but Emily held him back. She put her hand on his face, leaned forward and kissed him gently. Garcia smiled, blinking back tears. The sight of two of her babies in love was just about too much for her. Reid brushed his thumb over her cheek, then got up and left the room.

Emily stood up and stretched. Garcia got up and reached out to embrace her. Emily returned the hug, squeezing her tight. "Thanks," she whispered. She pulled away and went to the window that overlooked the bullpen, wrapping her arms around her midsection. Garcia went to stand next to her. She was watching Reid at his desk, on the phone while he shoved files into his messenger bag.

"You are in trouble, sugar," Garcia said.

"I am? For what?"

"For not letting it be known that one of the Bureau's most eligible bachelors is off the market."

That made Emily smile a little. "Yes, he is," she said, sounding pretty emphatic about that.

They said nothing for a few moments. Garcia followed Emily's eyes to Reid's ascetic figure. "He is a handsome thing, I gotta say," she said.

"Well, I think so." Emily shook her head. "I never saw this coming."

Garcia smiled. "That's just what he said, and I'll ask you what I asked him…you sure about that?"

Emily hesitated before answering. "Maybe not."

Unable to restrain her curiosity anymore, Garcia went ahead and asked. "What's he like to date?"

Emily was quiet for a moment, then a slow smile spread on her face. "Pretty amazing." She turned to look at Garcia. "You know where he took me on our first date? An observatory. We had the whole place to ourselves. He showed me the planet Saturn, huge and shining, right there in front of me." She had a faraway look in her eyes, like she was going back into the memory. "He kissed me under that big open dome with the stars above us."

"Oh my God," Garcia breathed.

"Yeah." Emily looked out the window again; Reid had both of their bags over his shoulder and was moving towards the door. "Gotta go," she said. "Tell Hotch I might not be available the next couple of days."

"Oh, he knows. And if you want Reid to stay with you, I'm sure Hotch would understand."

"Yeah, we'll see."

Garcia followed her down the stairs, turning off the light in the conference room. "Goodnight, you guys," she said.

They both smiled at her. "Night, Garcia," Reid said. Garcia watched them walk to the elevator. As they stepped in, Reid put his arm around Prentiss and she leaned against him, her head dropping tiredly to his shoulder. Garcia smiled as the elevator doors closed.  _At least she has somebody to help her through this._

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	9. Chapter 9

_Seattle, Washington  
Present day_

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"Explain to me again why you think he's a scientist," Emily said. She was sitting cross-legged on the bed with papers from the file spread out all around her. She unwrapped her wet hair and tossed the towel toward the bathroom, letting it rest where it fell. Hotels had their advantages.

Reid had photos and copies of the UNSUB's letters taped to the mirror. He was standing in front of it, his hands bristling with different colored pens. Every so often he'd dart in to underline something. Emily was keeping her eyes on the file. Reid was wearing only the flannel pants he slept in; they hung low on his narrow hips. It was a little distracting. "It's the phrasing," he said. "It's all passive voice, spelling out recipes, things that were done – it reads like a lab notebook."

"Well, killers often keep scrapbooks or journals, why not a lab notebook?"

"And each letter comes with a heading. Date, title, subject, goals and outcome – they're like entries in a scientist's notebook."

"I bet your lab notebooks were pictures of scientific exactitude," she said.

"You can see for yourself. They're in a trunk in the attic at home."

"You still  _have_  them all? No, of course you do." She picked up a copy of one of the letters. "So he sends these letters to the parents. Detailed descriptions of how their son or daughter died. That's sadistic."

"I'm not so sure. The tone of the letters is dry, almost pedagogical. It doesn't sound like he's trying to rub their noses in it. It's almost like testimony, like he just thinks they'd want all the details presented in an objective way. Almost like he's trying to give them closure by giving them all the information. That's how a scientist would think, too."

"He's not using any correct anatomical terms, so if he's a scientist he isn't a doctor. What need is he serving by sending these accounts to the parents?"

Reid turned around. "If I'm right, and he's providing an objective account of his victim's death to the parents – it could be a sign of remorse." He picked up one of the letters, then tossed it aside, rubbing his forehead. "I don't know. Maybe I've got this all wrong."

"No, I think you're on to something. We should present this to the team in the morning."

He smirked. "In other words, shut up and go to bed."

"Now you're talking." Emily began gathering the file together. "I need my beauty sleep."

He picked up the complete file and leaned over her. "If you get any more beautiful I may go blind."

She grinned up at him. "You trying to get lucky, Dr. Reid?"

He arched an eyebrow. "How hard do I have to try, Mrs. Reid?" He only called her that when he was feeling saucy.

She slid her hands up his sides and pulled him forward. "Come here, pretty boy," she teased. She scooted back on the bed, drawing Reid down with her. He smiled and let himself be drawn, lowering himself into her arms and kissing her, deep and slow in that way he had that made her go all jelly-like. "I wonder if this will ever stop feeling wrong," she said, sighing as they kissed, the feeling of his mouth on hers and his responses to her touch by now familiar to her.

He drew back, frowning. "It feels wrong?"

She laughed. "No, not this. This feels great. I mean…it doesn't seem fair we're the only ones who get to have sex when we're out on a case."

"Not true. You think Morgan's never picked up anybody when we're on assignment?"

She hadn't thought of that. "Huh. I guess that's a fair point." She started to kiss him again, then a thought occurred and she pulled away. "Did  _you_  ever pick up anybody on assignment?"

"No!" he exclaimed – then he blushed. "Well, I wouldn't say I picked them up, but I did  _meet_  two women on cases who I later dated."

"You mean Austin." She suppressed the bitchface that wanted to rise to her features at the name. Austin still emailed Spencer regularly and called on occasion. Emily had her suspicions about why. Their breakup had been more a function of distance than anything else, and she knew he'd been the one to break it off, to Austin's disappointment.  _Cut out the jealous crap, Emily. Who's he married to, again?_

"Yes," he said, watching her face.

"Who's the other?"

"Linda Kimura."

"Oh, right." Dr. Kimura wasn't nearly as objectionable, in fact Emily rather liked her. It helped that she and Spencer had only gone out a couple of times. It hadn't been anything resembling a relationship.

"I did make out in a pool once with a woman we were protecting."

"In a  _pool?_  How have I not heard about this?"

"It was before your time. I thought sure Morgan would have told you that story."

"No, he has not!"

"Please tell me you don't want to hear it right this second." He ducked his head and began kissing her neck in a way that soon made her stop caring about the woman in the pool.

"Umm…I guess it can wait…ohhhh boy…" He had her nightshirt off now and was nuzzling her breasts. The muscles of her abdomen jumped and fluttered as his long hair tickled her skin, and suddenly her underwear was gone. The perils of going to bed with a magician was that things could disappear all on their own – which wasn't always a bad thing. He was in a hurry tonight, which worked just fine for her. He crawled back up her body to reclaim her mouth, his kisses deep and hungry. They both grabbed at his pants at the same time, somehow getting them off him with one hand each. He hooked one of her legs around his hip and slid into her, exhaling as his eyes fell closed. Emily sighed and wrapped her other leg around him, her eyes on his face. She loved watching him while he was inside her, it was like peeling back the skin of Everyday Reid the super-genius profiler and seeing the raw insides, that part of him that only she got to see, the part that remembered caves and hunting and how it felt to couple like this by firelight under a starry sky.

Emily was very satisfied by their sex life – most of the time, anyway. Spencer applied the same dedication to making love to her that he did to everything else, and he'd brought more to the table than she'd expected. Often it was fantastic, sometimes just okay. Occasionally it was disastrously experimental. On a couple of memorable instances, it had been victoriously experimental. Sometimes they ended up laughing, sometimes they ended up mad. Sometimes she was left unsatisfied, and sometimes he was. But they'd always been able to fix it, whatever happened, and come away a little smarter. She was starting to feel like they were getting really good at it, and at reading each other. Tonight they were both a little impatient, rushing ahead and hanging on as they moved together on the bed. He kissed her and looked down into her eyes just as she lost it, crying out and digging her fingertips into his back. He dropped his head into the crook of her shoulder and followed soon after, his body warm and sweat-damp against her. He sagged into her arms. Emily purred in contentment, winding herself around him. She held on as he started to roll away. "No, don't go," she whispered, wanting to keep him inside her, just for a few more moments. He relaxed against her again.

"Emily," he breathed, the name a benediction on his lips. He kissed her neck, one hand cupping her face. "God, I love you," he whispered, the words barely more than exhalations.

She smiled. Their little counting way of saying it was fun and intimate, but she liked hearing the real words, too.

* * *

At first, Emily thought she was dreaming. Knock, knock. A loud banging noise.

She realized that someone was actually knocking on their door when she felt Spencer get out of bed.  _Thunk._  "Goddammit," he muttered. "Ow."

"You okay?" she said, her voice feeling thick with sleep.

"Yeah, I just banged my leg on the table." She saw his dim shape pulling on pants and grabbing his shirt.

"Who's knocking?"

"I don't know, why don't I go to the door and find out?" he sniped.

"Fine, you don't have to bite my head off," she muttered. She sat up and pulled on her nightshirt as Reid opened the door.

"JJ," she heard him say.

"Sorry to wake you," said JJ.

Emily joined him at the door. "What's going on?"

"Hotch needs to see us in his room, right now."

She felt a sliver of fear slide into her stomach. That couldn't be good. "What's happened?" Reid asked, beating her to the punch.

"Just come quickly. I'm getting the others."

"Okay," Reid said. JJ nodded and moved off down the hall. He shut the door; Emily could hear JJ knocking on Morgan's door. She took off the nightshirt and reached for her bra and pants. Reid was swapping his flannel pants for regular ones. They exchanged a worried glance, but didn't say anything.

They came out of their room at the same time as Morgan. "What gives?" he asked them.

Reid shrugged. "No idea."

They headed down the hall to Hotch's room; Rossi and JJ were already there. Hotch was stone-faced. Everyone was in half-sleepwear. "Everyone take a seat," Hotch said. They carved out spots on the beds and the couch. Emily sat in a chair, Reid sat cross-legged on the floor at her feet.

Hotch took a breath. "I have bad news. I just received a call from Erin Strauss, informing me that earlier this evening, Elle Greenaway was found murdered in her home in Dallas."

Emily saw Spencer stiffen; she put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed. JJ gasped and put one hand to her mouth. Morgan shut his eyes, his head sagging. She and Rossi exchanged a glance – neither of them knew Elle except to say hello to, but knew all too well the attachment that their teammates still had for her. She heard Spencer exhale a long, shuddery breath. He reached up and grasped her hand. "What happened?" Morgan finally croaked.

"It's unclear," Hotch said. "I haven't spoken directly to anyone on the Dallas police force. I need to remind everyone that regardless of Elle's connection to us, this is not our case. She was no longer a federal employee and we have no jurisdiction unless we're invited in. We have an open case, and what's happening here in Seattle right now needs our full attention."

Emily was only half-listening. She was watching the back of Spencer's head. He dropped his chin down to his chest and took a few deep breaths. "We both felt like something was off about her when we saw her in Dallas," he said. "I knew something was wrong."

Hotch held up a hand. "It's very tempting to look for an explanation right now, but we really don't know enough to formulate even the simplest hypothesis. Let's concentrate on wrapping up this case before we turn our attention to other things."

"Maybe Emily and I could go to Dallas," Reid said. "You guys can handle this case without us."

"I don't want to split up the team unless there's a compelling reason," Hotch said. "I'll call Dallas in the morning and get some more information about how Elle died. Let's not get ahead of ourselves."

Reid nodded, the defeated slump of his shoulders speaking volumes. Rossi spoke up for the first time. "I think we should all try and get some sleep now."

Everyone got up and wandered out of Hotch's room. JJ, Morgan, Reid and Emily lingered in the hallway. "I can't believe this," JJ said, her eyes shining with tears. Spencer put an arm around her. "This shouldn't have happened to her. She survived once – it's not right."

"It's never right to lose a friend," Emily murmured.

Morgan was shaking his head. "We all just let her go," he said. "I thought I'd keep in touch, but time goes by and suddenly it's six months later."

Reid stepped away from JJ and leaned against the wall next to Emily. "The phone lines go both ways, Morgan. She distanced herself. I think she meant to."

"We didn't have to let her."

"What should we have done?" JJ said. "Hounded her until she talked to us?"

"If that was what it took, yeah!"

"Guys, guys," Reid said, holding out his hands. "Nobody could have foreseen this, okay?"

"What about what you told me, how she was shifty and secretive with you?" Morgan said.

Reid gaped at him. "That doesn't mean I could have guessed that she might be murdered!"

"You know everything else, why couldn't you?" Morgan said, stepping closer, his voice getting louder.

Emily put a hand on his chest. "Hey, calm down," she said. "Getting up in his face isn't going to make you feel any better.'

"Don't patronize me, Emily. You didn't even know Elle."

"And you did. Were you able to predict that she'd shoot a suspect in cold blood?"

That shut Morgan up. He backed off, then made a vague gesture in Reid's direction. "Sorry, kid, I got kinda – emotional."

Reid shook his head. "It's okay. We're all thrown by this."

"Let's just get some sleep," JJ said. "We still have a case here to concentrate on."

"Yeah, good luck," Morgan muttered. He clapped Reid on the shoulder and headed to his room. JJ went in the opposite direction. Emily opened their door with the keycard and held it open for Reid, who shuffled in before her, his arms crossed over his stomach.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, his hands going into his hair. She stood next to him and smoothed his sleep-mussed hair back from his temple. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart," she whispered.

He tipped his head back to meet her eyes; his were moist and red. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. He just shook his head, then reached out and hugged her around the hips, pressing his cheek to her stomach. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and lowered her face into his hair. He was shaking a little.

"It's okay," she murmured – but it wasn't.


	10. Chapter 10

The next morning, they passed around the crime scene photos of Elle's death, grim-faced, forcing themselves to look at what had been done to her.

Reid stared at her body, sprawled out on her own kitchen floor. He looked at it long enough that the others noticed him lingering. "What do you see?" Hotch asked.

"Single gunshot to the middle of the forehead, looks like a .22. No sign of sexual assault. She's lying where she fell. No defensive wounds, no sign of a struggle, back door lock was jimmied. No signs of coercion or torture." He looked up from the photo, but the image remained floating in the air before him. "She was executed by someone who wanted to get her out of the way. This wasn't a lust murder or a sexual sadist, this was practical."

Rossi nodded. "Agreed."

Hotch sighed. "I don't like it any more than you do, but we shouldn't get involved in this."

"C'mon, Hotch," JJ said. "I can call the Dallas PD and get us an invitation to consult in ten minutes. Once they hear she was one of ours they'll understand that we want to help."

"So we abandon this case, and these people who need us now? For what? To go after a murderer whose crime would not normally warrant our involvement? Elle was killed for a reason, a logical reason to whoever killed her, that means there was a connection between victim and killer, and that means the local police are adequately equipped to handle this case."

"You don't want us getting involved," Morgan said, looking shocked.

"I didn't say that," Hotch said. "I just don't know if we can." He looked around at the expectant faces turned toward him and fetched a deep sigh. "Okay. Can we agree to refocus on this case we have in front of us right now? After we wrap this up, if Elle's murder is still unsolved, I'll call Dallas myself and get us invited in to consult."

The matter settled as much as it was going to be, everyone turned their attention to the current case. Time ticked by slowly, more slowly than usual. All morning, Reid found himself watching Emily. He felt distracted, preoccupied, and over and over again his eyes would wander to her and linger as she read files, made notes, walked across the room. As time went on and he couldn't stop seeing the image of Elle lying dead on the floor in her own kitchen, his brain insisted on substituting Emily's face for Elle's. His Emily, dead on the floor.

 _Stop it._  He shook his head, banishing the nauseating, cold-sweat-inducing image to the netherworlds of his mind.

He stared at her back as she stood talking to one of the local detectives. She'd taken off her jacket, and the blouse she was wearing clung to the curve of her lower back. His gaze wandered down to her ass without him really being aware of it.

"Hey, check out the scenery later, genius," Morgan muttered. "Focus on the task at hand."

Reid harrumphed, flushing red, and bent over the file again. "Sorry."

"S'all right, man. I get it."

Reid met his eyes and saw that he did. "I can't stop seeing Elle dead on the floor."

"I know," Morgan said, his jaw clenching. "Makes you want to grab hold of what you've got, doesn't it?"

He nodded. "Makes me want to go hug my wife. I'd do it if we weren't in the middle of a police station."

"You can hug me instead, if you want," Morgan said with a grin. "I'm secure in my masculinity."

Reid snorted. "Somehow it wouldn't be the same."

Lunchtime rolled around, and JJ started asking what everyone wanted from the deli across the street. When she got around to Emily, Reid looked over at her and found her looking back at him, a speculative look on her face. "Just a sandwich. Whatever looks good," she told JJ. Abruptly, she walked over to him and grabbed his hand. "We'll be right back," she said, pulling him out of the room.

"Where are we going?" he asked, letting himself be pulled.

"I found this wardrobe with all these fur coats in it. I thought we'd check it out." She led him through a pair of double doors into a corridor, then down a flight of stairs. No one was around. They came around a corner and Emily stopped at a door labeled "Storage." It opened when she turned the knob. She pulled him inside, shut the door behind them and turned the deadbolt. The room was full of industrial metal shelves full of unlabeled file boxes. An old metal desk sat in the middle of it. The small space was dimly lit through high transom windows that were probably at ground level. "I did a little scouting around earlier."

"Oh yeah? Why?"

In lieu of an answer, she pushed him up against the wall and plastered herself to him, her mouth pushing against his with rough intent, her tongue in his mouth before he had time to even think of a response.

Arousal slammed through him like a freight train.  _Yes, this is what I need, I need her, I need to feel and touch and know._  He seized her and flipped them around, pressing her against the wall. God, he'd never know how she was able to get him so turned on, so fast. It was like she'd found the magic "off" switch in his brain that he himself could only fumble for in the dark and rarely find, but her fingers went right to it unerringly and flipped it whenever she liked, turning him into an id-driven creature, his libido shoving its way into the pilot's seat, leaving his rational mind stunned and blinking on the floor, helpless.

She was so warm and lively against him, her body slender but strong, her hands sliding up his chest to pull at his neck and shoulders while her hips tilted into his, pressing maddeningly against his erection. He kneaded her breast through her blouse, his fingers itching for the feeling of her skin. Her hand was gripping him through his pants; he felt a little dizzy with the suddenness of all the blood rushing away from his brain. He got her shirt unbuttoned and spread his hands over her ribcage, pushing back against her demanding mouth, and now her fingers were busy undoing his belt. She pushed him away from the wall and they staggered over to the desk. He didn't ask if she seriously wanted to do this. She'd arranged for it, and he knew why, but he wasn't complaining. He wasn't stupid enough to question his own good fortune. It wasn't every man who had a woman like Emily for a lover.

She sat on the edge of the desk and drew him to stand between her knees, kissing the notch at the base of his throat now, her hands stroking his back while his hands tangled in her hair. He tipped her head back and took her mouth again, sliding one hand down the front of her pants, feeling her tremble and gasp as he stroked her. She went back to work on his zipper. She shoved his pants and boxers down, then moved his hand away to undo her own pants. He pushed her down on the desk, damn near frantic now to be inside her. She got her pants off one leg, wrapped her thighs around his hips, grabbed his ass and pulled him in. He pushed in hard and held it, exhaling sharply. She sucked in a quick breath and her eyes locked with his, her hands gripping his shoulders. Her gaze was full of desire, and now a little impatience. "Give it to me hard," she said through clenched teeth.

He needed no further encouragement. Reid let himself go. He hung onto the edge of the desk while she hung onto him, or else they might both have toppled off onto the floor. She felt like a furnace around him, gripping him inside and outside at the same time, her hips rocking to meet his thrusts. He felt her come, her teeth biting into her lower lip as she tensed, her fingers digging into his sides. It didn't take him long to follow, his mind going blank as it burst over him and he spent himself inside her. He propped himself on his elbows so he wouldn't crush her, his breathing shaky, his whole body trembling. "Jesus," he muttered.

She kissed the side of his face, her own breath hot and fast on his cheek. "Goddamn, that was good," she said.

"That was totally unprofessional," he said.

"We're on lunch break."

" _Lunch_  break, not  _sex_  break."

"Either way, it's our own time, and you needed that." He lifted his head and looked in her eyes. "I saw you eyeballing my ass all morning, Special Agent Subtle, and I know how people react to death." She kissed the tip of his nose. "You lost a friend, Spencer, the worst way possible. I wish I could make that better for you, but I can't. All I can do is remind you that you and I are both here. We're okay, we're going to keep being okay, and I love you like crazy."

He smiled. "How crazy?" This was one of their stupid, private, embarrassing, sickening-people-in-love games that no one would ever, ever hear about upon pain of death.

She grinned. "Like Flowbee crazy."

"Quantum entanglement crazy."

"Nick Nolte crazy."

"Oh, damn. That's a good one. Umm…Flat Earth Society crazy."

She made a "you lose" buzzer noise. "You've used that one before."

He sighed. "I plead nolo. I'm too brain-depleted to win, anyway." He kissed her, tenderness replacing the urgency he'd felt just moments ago, then gingerly pulled away and stood, pulling his pants up. She swung her legs over the side and retrieved her own. "Please tell me that when you did your scouting, you found an equally secluded bathroom?"

* * *

Emily popped her contacts out and washed her face, wincing at the puffiness she saw in the mirror. It had been a long day. Her impromptu lunchtime surprise had seemed to quiet Spencer's jitters for awhile, but he, JJ and Morgan had still been noticeably distracted all afternoon. Even Hotch had been off his game. She and Rossi had kept things on track, but everyone had Elle's death on the brain, and the impatience to work  _that_  case instead of the one they had was palpable. At dinner, conversation had centered around nothing else. She could feel Spencer getting tenser and tenser as the night went on. He withdrew from the conversation, crossing his arms and legs and leaning back from the table. Worse, he was getting that shifty-eyed look that he got when he was starting to crave. She wasn't afraid he'd use. She just hated seeing him so distressed. She wished she could fix it with a wave of her magic wand, but she couldn't.

She came out of the bathroom. Spencer was sitting in a chair staring out the window, chin in hand. His other hand was playing with a small round disk – his one-year medallion. Emily braced herself. She went to the bed and sat down near him. "I'll step out for awhile so you can make a call."

He glanced at her. "You don't need to do that."

She trod lightly as she spoke. This issue was...prickly.  _I've always been the one getting the short end of the stick with his recovery issues, almost since I've known him. Why is that, anyway?_  "How bad is it?"

Long pause. "It's been better."

"That's what sponsors are for."

"You think I don't know that?" he snapped. Emily drew back. He sighed and got up, pocketing the medallion. "I can't talk about this."

"You never can. You can't talk about it with me, okay, I get it. I've never been there. But you have to talk about it with somebody." He said nothing, just paced. "You could find a meeting here."

"Stop trying to help me," he said. He was drawing in on himself.

Emily was getting impatient. "Why shouldn't I try to help you? Why is that so terrible? I'm your  _wife,_  it's part of my job to help you."

"I don't need to be instructed how to handle my recovery."

"Of course not, because you've always made the right choices about that!"

He stopped and faced her. "I have never fallen off the wagon, not once. I've wanted to, I've been tempted, but I haven't done it. I have been sober since the day I quit. What more do you want from me?"

"Me? I don't want anything! The question is, what more do you want from yourself? Is it not enough that you've stayed sober, now you have to do it without any support? You won't talk to me, you won't call your sponsor – it's like you're trying to pretend it never happened."

"I can't do that!" he said, shouting now. "That's what the drugs did! Made me forget!"

"And it pisses you off that you can't have that anymore!"

"Yes!" he said, before catching himself. "I mean...no, that's not what I mean."

"Oh, Spencer," she sighed. "It is. And you've always resented me because I confronted you about it."

"I don't resent you," he said. He sounded exhausted.

"Some part of you does. Everyone knew you were having problems. No one said a word, no one but stupid new girl Emily who didn't quite get yet that things were handled a certain way, and that you had to be protected, especially from the fact that everyone knew."

He shook his head. "I was so awful to you."

"Yeah, you were. That's in the past, but you're still hanging on. You still hate it that I  _saw_  what was going on and I didn't let you get away with it."

"I hate it that you were ever in that position. I hate that I put any of you through that. I hate that I let the team down."

She jumped up and grabbed his arms. "You didn't let anyone down. God, what you went through? You're only human! You're not a brain in a vat like some solipsist mad science experiment, you have a body and you can be hurt and you  _were,_  and I think it may have been the first time that your body beat out your brain for control. It was something you couldn't intellectualize away, and  _that's_  what drove you to the Dilaudid."

He looked at her, his eyes shuttered. "You know me pretty well, don't you?"

"I hope so."

He stared down at his shoes and snorted brief, bitter laughter. "Bet you didn't realize you were signing up for all this when you married me, or you'd have run the other direction."

Anger rushed up Emily's spine. "Why do you always say that?" she exclaimed, her voice clogged. "Every time we fight, you come out with something like that. I want you to stop it, you hear me? How can you think that I'm sorry I married you?"

"Someday you will be!" he shouted.

Emily stopped short and stared at him. "Jesus, Spencer," she sighed.

"You will be," he went on. "You say you won't but I know better. Someday it'll get to be too much. You'll be tired of dealing with me, you'll want..." He cleared his throat and looked away. "Things I can't give you." He ran a hand through his hair and met her eyes again, his own huge and tear-filled. "It'll happen."

She shook her head. "Never."

"You can't know that."

"Yes, I can. This job we do doesn't let us believe in many things, but I believe that I love you. Do you get it? Down to my  _bones_  I love you. I trust that. Don't you?"

"I want to," he said, his voice a near-whisper. He held her eyes for a long beat, then turned and walked past her out of the room, the door shutting behind him.

Emily stood there frozen for a moment, then sat down heavily on the bed, the tears spilling over and rolling down her cheeks.

* * *

An hour later there was a quiet knock on the door. Emily had gotten herself under control, washed her face again and changed into her pajamas. Reid wasn't back yet.

She got out of bed and opened the door. "JJ," she said, surprised to see her friend there, dressed for bed as Emily was.

JJ smiled. "Can I come in?"

"Sure."

They sat cross-legged on the bed like girls at a slumber party. JJ was watching her with sympathy. "Are you okay?"

Emily nodded, although she knew JJ could tell she'd been crying. "Yeah. It's just been a hard day."

"Emily, I, uh...could hear you guys arguing."

"Oh," Emily said in a small voice. "Sorry if we disturbed you."

"That's not the point. You want to talk about it?"

Emily hesitated before answering. "Every time we fight, he says something about how I must be sorry I married him. I can tell him I'm not sorry, but he's convinced that someday I will be sorry. I don't know what could ever make him think that."

JJ cocked her head. "You don't?"

She sighed. "Yeah, I do. I just don't know how to make him stop."

"Spence's whole life has been about the world teaching him how he doesn't fit in it."

"I know. I hate it. It just makes me so angry, it's like he thinks I don't have any say in it, I'm helpless and he's so horrible and one day it'll just end."

"He really thinks that someday you'll wake up and wonder what you were thinking, and leave him. He's waiting for it."

"I wish…" Emily stopped short and looked away, her throat clogging up. "I wish I could mind-meld with him so he could  _see_. Telling him sure doesn't seem to be enough."

JJ reached out and took one of her hands. "It's going to take more than a year for it to sink in, I think."

"So what do I do in the meantime? Because the martyr routine gets pretty damn old. I can't keep having this same conversation, this same argument, over and over again."

"It's in his head. Just remember that. And I guess just keep…" She hesitated, blushing a little. "Keep loving him," she said, quietly.

Emily sighed. "I don't get a choice about that."


	11. Chapter 11

_Behavioral Analysis Unit, Quantico, VA  
fourteen months ago_

__

* * *

_  
_

 

"You got a minute?'

JJ looked up from the towering, tottering stacks of files to see Spencer lurking in her doorway, looking fidgety and nervous. "Sure, come on in."

He came in and shut the door behind him, jacking up her curiosity even more. He sat down in front of her desk. "I need to ask you something."

"Okay." She could guess it was something personal, probably something to do with Emily. It must really be bothering him for him to bring it up at work. In fact, it was almost impossible to tell that they were dating at all to judge by their behavior. Here at the BAU they were stringently professional. They conversed with no more intimacy than anyone else on the team, Emily still called him "Reid" and not "Spencer," and since that day her father had died, JJ had never seen them touch each other except casually, as anyone did. They even kept things neutral when the team was out socially. JJ might have wondered if they'd broken up if she didn't know from talking to each of them that they hadn't.

Reid reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box, which he opened and set before her on the nearest stack of files. It was a beautiful silver ring, set with an oval moonstone flanked by two small diamonds. JJ picked it up, grinning stupidly. "But this is so sudden," she said, unable to resist the urge to tease him.

He gave her a withering look. "It isn't for  _you._ "

"Oh, Spence – are you going to ask Emily to marry you?"

"Why, you think I shouldn't?" he said, his voice spiraling into the upper octaves.

"No, it isn't that – calm down! It was just a question."

He was staring at his hands now, folding and unfolding them, arranging the long fingers into odd contortionist twists as was his habit. "I know we haven't been together that long..."

"Almost a year. That's not nothing."

"No, I guess not." He looked up at her, his huge eyes beseeching her for wisdom. "Is it too soon?"

"You're asking the wrong girl. I'm no expert. Will and I have been together four years and we're not married but we have a son and live together, I'm not one to talk about when or why somebody ought to get married." She thought for a moment. "Do you  _want_  to marry Emily?"

"Yes," he said, quietly. "I want to spend the rest of my life with her."

"Then ask her." She handed the box back to him.

"No," he said. "That's what I wanted to ask you. What do you think of the ring?"

"Oh!" She opened the box again and took another look. "It's really beautiful. Moonstone?"

"It's her favorite. Do you think it's too – nontraditional? I know it's usually diamonds, but she likes moonstones. I don't want her to think I'm being cheap."

"I'm sure she won't."

"Seventy-five percent of first-time brides receive a diamond engagement ring, and twenty-eight percent of women say that they'd turn down a proposal if they don't like the ring."

JJ frowned. "Those women don't sound like anyone you'd want to marry, anyway, and they certainly don't sound like Emily. I don't think it matters. It's personal, she'll like that. And you want to know a secret?"

He leaned forward. "What?"

"Women act like the ring's so important, but what we really care about is the guy offering it to us."

"Oh." He frowned. "I don't know whether that makes me feel better or worse."

She gave him a mock-stern look. "Stop that."

"What?"

"Putting yourself down. Emily loves you, you know."

He blushed. "Yeah. I think so."

"Told me so herself."

His head came up. "She did?"

"Just ask her, all right? It's a beautiful ring."

"When should I do it? Forty-eight percent of women prefer the man to take initiative and be spontaneous instead of using a traditional day like Valentine's Day, and two-thirds would prefer their prospective fiance to ask their father's permission beforehand…of course I can't do that anymore…"

"I don't think Emily will care about the date or the occasion. When were you thinking of doing it?"

"I was thinking tonight."

JJ smiled. "No time like the present."

He reclaimed the ring box and stood up. "Well, if she doesn't like it, I have something else for her that might sweeten the deal."

"Yeah? What's that?"

He smirked. "A house."

* * *

"I think this is giving me motion sickness," Emily said. It wasn't, but it was a little disconcerting to be in a car blindfolded.

"I don't trust you not to peek."

"Do you trust me not to puke?"

"You're fine," he said. She could hear the smirk in his voice. "You just want that thing off. I'm not falling for it. Anyway, we're almost there."

"If this is a surprise party, you're not getting any for a week."

"Why would there be a surprise party?"

"I don't know, but you're just devious enough to hold a surprise party months before my birthday so it'd be even more of a surprise."

"Huh. Yeah, that does kind of sound like something I'd do. I didn't, though."

"Good." She felt the car come to a stop. She heard him get out and come around to her side. He opened her door and took her hand.

"Okay, careful, now. There's a curb." She waved her free hand around like a blind woman as Reid tucked her close to his side and began walking her forward. She could tell by the noises, or lack thereof, that it was a residential neighborhood. Grass beneath her feet, the smell of mowing, a dog barking somewhere close.

"Spencer, where are we?" she said, exasperated.

"Just hang on a second." He was positioning her now. She was standing on something hard, like bricks or flagstones. "Okay – and here we are!"

He whipped the blindfold off her eyes and Emily blinked, looking around. She gasped. "Oh my God…Spencer…your house!"

It was the house he had shown her all those months ago, the day after their first date. The Gothic Craftsman former library with a bad case of identity crisis. He'd been renovating it all this time but she hadn't been here since. "It's done," he said, smiling.

"You said it would be another three months!"

"I lied."

She didn't care at the moment, she was too busy staring up at the house. It looked fresh and new and beautiful. "Let me see inside!" she exclaimed.

He whipped out a key and they raced each other up the wide steps to the double front door. He opened it and held the door to let her in. The lights were blazing from the original candelabra, the rich wooden floors buffed to a high shine that highlighted their character, the dings and scuffs and wear marks from years of use by library patrons. She wandered through the first floor, marveling at the period-accurate mosaic tile floor in the foyer and the modern kitchen. What had been reading rooms and circulation desks and rows of bookshelves was now a living room, a den, a dining room, all of it high-ceilinged and adorned with built-in woodwork and dark, thoughtful colors. There was no furniture. "You haven't moved in yet?" she asked, admiring the tall stained-glass windows in the library. He didn't answer.

Emily turned around. He was just standing there watching her.

"Spencer?"

"Do you like the house?"

She turned in a circle. "It's amazing. I love it. I'm so jealous you get to live here!"

He walked forward until he was right before her, then Emily's stomach flipped over as he dropped slowly to one knee. "Don't be jealous. I'm hoping you'll live here with me," he said. He reached into his pocket and took out a small box, flipping it open to show her. Emily's hands went to her mouth.

_Oh God. He isn't._

He was gazing up at her, his face open and hopeful. "Emily, will you marry me?"

Her heart surged even as her brain started trying to talk her down.  _I can't. It's too soon. I just don't know. We haven't had the kids talk. We haven't had the money talk. It's too soon. How can I marry a man so much younger? I can't. Can I live with him? I don't know. What if we drive each other crazy? What if it's too much seeing each other at work and at home, too? We won't have any time apart, we'll be too much in each other's pockets, it'll never work…_

_I can't. I just can't._

Emily Prentiss looked down into his face, his dear, sweet face, and braced herself to break his heart, to say nothing of her own.

"Yes," she heard herself say.

_What'd I just say?_

He blinked, his mouth falling open a little like he wasn't quite sure he'd heard her correctly. "You will?" he asked.

Emily's voices of dissent were silent.  _Oh, hell. I've waited all my life to feel this way about somebody, and now that I do, I'm going to let him go because he's younger? Or because we work together? I don't think so._  She nodded, tears filling her eyes at the idea, barely allowed into her mind until now, of spending the rest of her life with this man. "Yes."

He grinned, then took the ring out of its little box and slid it onto her finger. They held a long look, then she yanked him back to his feet and threw her arms around him, laughing. He hugged her tightly, her toes barely touching the ground as they exchanged excited kisses. He put her down and touched her hair, looking into her face. "I love you," he said, the words full of such certainty and confidence that Emily knew she could trust them.

"I love you, too," she said, unable to stop smiling. She pulled his mouth back down to hers. "There's really no furniture at all in here?" she whispered in between kisses.

"No. Why?"

"Oh, nothing – I'm just thinking it's going to be a little uncomfortable on the cold, hard floor when we christen our new bedroom."

* * *

A few weeks had passed since Reid had come to her office wanting proposal advice, and JJ was dying of curiosity. Had he popped the question? Had she accepted? Emily was not wearing the ring – but then, she might not want to wear it at work. She wanted to ask but couldn't. What if he hadn't asked yet?

She was standing by the coffeepots Thursday morning with Morgan and Garcia when Reid and Prentiss came walking up, a judicious two feet of space between them. They looked uncomfortable. Both of them had their hands behind their backs and expressions like they'd just been called to the blackboard to discuss homework they'd forgotten to do.

"Hey, guys," Garcia said, friendly as ever, even while JJ saw her sharp eyes cataloging the pair's discomfort.

"Hey," Emily said. "So." She looked like she had something else to say but nothing else came out. Reid glanced at her.

"Soooo...what?" Morgan said.

Reid continued where Emily had stopped. "So you know my house is ready now. For me to move in, I mean."

"We know, kid."

"So I thought – that is, we thought – I mean…" He blinked a couple of times, then looked at Emily for rescue. She just shrugged helplessly. "I thought it'd be nice to – you know, have people over."

"Fantastic!" Garcia said. "Housewarming party!"

"No!" Reid exclaimed. "I mean, not a party. Just you three," he said, putting a little emphasis on the last two words. JJ was getting the picture.  _Not Hotch and Rossi. No senior agents._

Emily sighed. "I'm sorry, you guys. We're really bad at this. Come here," she said, motioning them closer. The five of them stepped into a loose huddle, ducking their heads together. "Okay, all of you have been really great helping us stay on the down low, we'd like to have you over for dinner on Saturday, we've never entertained as a couple and it's super awkward to talk about this here and whose idea was it to bring this up at work, anyway?" she said, addressing that last part of her statement to Reid.

"I didn't think we could get them all at once otherwise!" he hissed back.

"Guys, guys," Morgan said. "Relax. We'd love to come, right?" he said, looking at JJ and Garcia.

"Wouldn't miss it!" Garcia said.

"I can't wait to see the house," JJ said.

"Good," Reid said. "It'll just be a relief for us to spend time with our friends and not have to be – like this," he said. He and Emily exchanged a look, and for just a second the masks fell away, and JJ got a glimpse of what they really felt for each other. Then it was over, and the workplace faces were back. "So, seven o'clock? Morgan knows where the house is."

"Great!" JJ said.

"I shall haul out my frilliest party frock," Garcia said, her red mouth a crescent of mirth.

Emily smiled. "Good. See you then. Oh, and...I don't need to tell you..."

"Our lips are sealed," Morgan said, miming zipping his lips and throwing the key away.

* * *

Morgan picked both of them up, carpooling out to Alexandria like PTA parents on the way to the bake sale. True to her word, Garcia was wearing a frilly dress with fruit printed all over it; she carried a tin of homemade cookies as a housewarming gift. JJ had a bottle of wine and Morgan had brandy. "Reid likes brandy," he said, by way of explanation.

"Well, Emily likes wine," she replied.

"It's not her house we're going to."

JJ arched an eyebrow. "Oh, you don't think so?"

She and Garcia stared out the windows of his car as they pulled up to the house. "Oh my  _God,_ " Garcia exclaimed. "It's like it was built with Reid in mind."

"Wait'll you see the inside," Morgan said, as they got out and headed up the sidewalk. "It's a nerd's paradise."

JJ rang the bell; it was an honest-to-God bell, not a buzzer or an electronic tone, but like something Quasimodo might have rung. They heard footsteps approaching and then the door opened to reveal Emily, smiling. She was wearing jeans and a turtleneck; she looked relaxed and comfortable – and very much the lady of the house.

"Hey, guys!" she said. "Come on in!"

"Something smells good," JJ said. "I didn't know Spence could cook."

Emily flapped a hand. "He can't. He's a terrible cook. You've seen how he eats. But he is good at taking direction and I'm making him do all the work, because he can't live on Twinkies and string cheese forever."

JJ gaped around at the house. "This place is amazing," she said, meaning it. It was big, but it didn't  _feel_  big. It was cozy.

"I know, isn't it?"

"A bit bare, though. I thought he'd moved in."

"Well, he didn't have much furniture. We did get a dining-room table though, so fear not, you won't be eating with plates balanced on knees." She led them back to the kitchen. JJ and Garcia exchanged a knowing look at her use of the word "we."

Reid was standing at the kitchen island chopping something. He was wearing an apron with a cartoon shark on it, beneath which was written "Om nom nom nom."* He looked up as they entered. "Hey guys!" he said, smiling. "Don't mind me, I'm just the kitchen slave."

Emily smacked him on the ass as she passed him. "Slaves can be sold, you know."

"Aw, Lola, you can't sell me. Who would solve your Sudokus for you when you get impatient?" JJ watched their comfortable interplay, bemused. Everyone on the team had noticed that Reid occasionally called Emily "Lola" in casual conversation, but no one knew why. She remembered the first time they'd overheard it, just as Emily and Reid were leaving for the night. They'd been borderline-arguing about something or other having to do with the alternator on his car, and they'd all heard him call her Lola as they left the bullpen on their way to the elevators.

Garcia had looked at JJ, blinking. "What, is she a showgirl? With feathers in her hair and a dress cut down to there?"

Morgan had put up his hands. "If she is dancing for him in a giant feather headdress, I do not want to know about it." They'd had a good laugh, but the mystery continued. The nickname wasn't heard very often, but every time it was, it was accompanied by a shared flirty smile – so they were all afraid to ask for the backstory on that one.

Reid brushed off his hands on his apron and took Morgan's bottle of brandy. "Sweet!" he exclaimed. "Thanks!"

"Place looks great, man. If only you had some furniture." He sat down at one of the bar stools on the other side of the island.

"Working on it. It didn't seem quite right to befoul this place with my furniture, most of which is Early American Yard Sale."

"You could go the Zen route and furnish the living room entirely with floor pillows," Garcia said, taking another bar stool and accepting a glass of JJ's wine from Emily. "But then you'd need to get a giant hookah pipe and some zithers. Not sure that's your scene."

Emily nodded, a pensive expression on her face. "I kind of like that idea. We could have wild ganja parties," she said. "The neighbors will love it."

"You  _would_  like that idea," Reid said. "Wasn't it you just last week who wanted to wrap twinkly lights around the banister?"

"Not all the time, just during the holidays, Ebenezer!"

JJ was amazed at the difference, seeing them here in this private arena, realizing that they shared this house and this life, and how it changed them to be here, away from the office. It wasn't just those workplace faces. It was their entire demeanor. Hell, even their voices sounded different. That overtone of restraint and professionalism was gone, and they both sounded more relaxed. They looked at each other without those filters before their eyes, and JJ could see what they were to each other. It was one thing to know about it, it was another to see it and realize its reality.

Reid dumped the contents of the cutting board into a large bowl that already had salad fixings in it. "Well, I managed not to screw up the salad."

Emily peered into the bowl. "Hold that thought." She reached in and pulled out a piece of something orange. "What's this?"

"You said chop up the peppers, right? The green one and the red one and the orange one."

Emily's eyes widened. "But there wasn't an orange one."

"Well, what's that, then?"

"Spencer! That was a habanero!" she said, holding the small piece far away from her body. JJ could smell the pepper from her seat.

Reid's eyes bugged out comically. "What was it doing in the fridge?"

"It came in the CSA box!" She put down the pepper and grabbed his arms. "Okay. Wash your hands. Do not touch your face or your eyes."

"I thought it smelled a little strong," he said, letting himself be led to the sink.

"Leave it to Reid to make a salad that'll send us all to the emergency room," Morgan said, chortling.

"Didn't you notice it was a lot smaller than the others?" Emily said, laughing as Reid scrubbed his hands.

"I thought it was some weird pygmy hybrid!" he said. "I am not an expert on the horticulture of peppers."

"Finally, something he's not an expert on," Morgan said.

Emily picked up the salad bowl. "So much for this." She hesitated, then held it out to them. "Unless one of you is a brave soul and would like to have some insanely spicy salad."

JJ held up her hands. "Keep it far, far away."

Garcia reached in. "Let me try. How hot can it be?" She plucked out a tiny piece and popped it in her mouth. All of them watched her with bated breath, Reid drying his hands. For a moment nothing happened, then her face reddened and she began to cough. "Oh my God, it's the devil's pepper!"

"Milk! Milk!" Morgan yelled.

Reid yanked open the fridge. "We don't have any. Wait...yogurt?" he said, coming out with a carton.

"It's dairy, give it here!" Garcia grabbed the yogurt, ripped off the lid and sucked down half of it at once. "Oh dear Lord," she gasped, breathing heavily.

Morgan was nearly on the floor with laughter. "Oh, mama, you are one spicy meatball," he gasped.

"Shut up, Thor," she said. "Your tongue isn't on fire!"

"My tongue is  _always_  on fire, baby girl," he said, leering at her.

Garcia rolled her eyes while the others laughed. "I guess I walked right into that one."

Reid took off his apron and tossed it onto the counter, putting one arm around Emily's shoulders. "Don't you think our first dinner party is going well?"

* * *

Garcia's mouth soothed by repeated applications of yogurt and some half-and-half Emily found in the back of the fridge, they managed to get to the dining room table. To everyone's relief, it turned out that Emily had cooked the actual dinner, chickpea curry and samosas. They drank JJ's bottle of wine and a couple more besides and forgot, for a time, that their jobs depended on the horrible deaths of others.

Finally, their plates empty and all of them pleasantly warm on the wine, Reid spoke up at a lull in conversation. "I guess you guys know we had another reason for inviting you here," he said.

JJ, Morgan and Garcia exchanged glances. "We suspected," JJ said.

"We've got some stuff to talk about with you."

Morgan leaned his elbows on the table. "What stuff, kid?"

He looked at Emily. She smiled at him and took his hand where it lay on the table, weaving her fingers through his. "Well," Reid said, not taking his eyes off her. "Emily and I are getting married," he said, his voice catching a little.

It wasn't a surprise to JJ, but both Morgan and Garcia erupted in exclamations, their faces bursting into grins. "You  _stud_ , Reid!" Morgan said, jumping up to give Reid a big back-slapping hug. "Gonna settle down and get boring, huh?" he said, still pounding his shoulder.

"I thought I was already boring," Reid said.

Garcia was hugging Emily. "Oh, sweetie – it's so fantastic. Congratulations," she said, pulling back and dabbing at her eyes with her napkin.

JJ moved around to get her own hug in. She pulled back and met Emily's gaze. "You're happy," she said, not really questioning.

Emily glanced over at Reid, now being mauled by Garcia. "Yes," she whispered, smiling, and JJ could see the truth of it in Emily's eyes.

JJ hugged her again. "I'm thrilled for you."

"You don't seem surprised," Emily said, giving her a knowing smile.

"Well, let's just say a certain nervous genius consulted me about the ring. Where is it?"

"Oh!" Emily exclaimed. She dug in her pocket and produced it, slipping it onto her ring finger. "I hate not being able to wear it all the time." Garcia grabbed her hand.

"Oh my gosh, that's gorgeous. Moonstone, how appropriate!"

Morgan came around to kiss Emily's cheek. "So you really want to sign up for a lifetime of living with this freakshow?" he said, eyes twinkling.

She sighed. "It'll be a sacrifice, but somehow I'll find the strength to carry on."

"You sure, now? The stacks of books, the thousands of cardigans, factual recitations on the history of shrimp..."

"It's worth it. He's really good in bed," Emily said, smiling innocently.

Reid choked on a mouthful of brandy. Morgan and Garcia both howled. "Oh hell no, TMI, TMI," Morgan managed through his laughter. Reid's face was purplish.

"Well, on that note," he said, coughing – but he was laughing, too, and JJ could tell that underneath his embarrassment was a little twinge of pride and male ego just to hear Emily say that, knowing full well that she wouldn't joke about it if it weren't true. "C'mon, guys, let's sit down. There's more." Everyone calmed down and resumed their seats. "We wanted to talk about this with you because it's going to affect you, too."

Emily continued. "Till now this has all been – unofficial. Nothing on paper, total deniability. But soon we're going to have to change our tax status, our official personnel files, next of kin, life insurance – I'll have to change my address of record right away."

"You're moving in?" JJ asked.

"I already have, partway. Only the furniture from my place is left to move, that's why it's still so bare in here. I'm giving up my apartment at the end of the month. The point is, we won't be able to hide it. The Bureau's going to know."

"JJ, you know the bureaucracy. What do you think will happen?" Reid asked.

She sighed. "I think they're going to want one of you to transfer."

A moody silence fell over the table, a sharp contrast to the glee of only a few moments ago. "That blows," Morgan said.

"What do you think the chances are that we could get a pass?" Emily asked.

"I have no idea," JJ said. "The Bureau's been known to bend its own rules, that's true. I don't know. It would depend how hard Hotch and Rossi were willing to fight for it, and the mood Strauss is in when they ask."

"Have you talked about who would leave the team?" Garcia asked.

Reid and Emily looked at each other, then she faced them again while he dropped his eyes to glare at the tablecloth. "Me. I'd be the one to transfer out."

Reid shook his head. "It's not right." JJ could tell that more than one war had already been waged over this. "After all the years you spent working your way up to the BAU."

"And what about you?" she said. "This is all you ever wanted, all you've ever done! The BAU needs you, your skills are special. I can be useful in other departments, I've done other things. You haven't, honey. I don't want to leave the team, but more than that, I don't want you to have to leave."

JJ felt for their predicament, but in the meantime she was enjoying a happy little bubble of warmth to hear Emily call him "honey." It was clearly not the first time she'd done so, as he didn't react to it.

Morgan sighed. "It's a hard thing, kid, but she's right. Emily, we'd hate to lose you, but – I think it's the right decision."

"I hate this," Reid said. "I hate that you'd have to leave because of me."

"Not because of  _you,_ " Emily said. "Because of  _us._  And that's worth it to me, Spencer," she said, her voice intent and determined. "You were willing to leave too, so we could be together. Why shouldn't I get to make the same choice?"

"Amen to that," Garcia said, hitting the table for emphasis. "Reid, you guys have what everybody wants. It's the most important thing in the world. Who the hell cares about a job in the face of that?"

"We all care about the job," Emily said. She took Reid's hand again, ducking her head to catch his eye. "But I want to marry you more than I don't want to leave the team," she said, speaking now just to him. "And I know you understand that, so please respect my choice."

"I wish you didn't have to make that choice," he said, his voice quiet.

She leaned close and touched her forehead to his temple. "It's no choice at all. You come first. I love you."

A small smile stole onto his face. "I love you, too," he whispered.

"You guys," Garcia said, her voice tremulous, flapping a hand in front of her face. "You're going to make me cry."

JJ didn't agree out loud, but their quiet devotion touched her, too. Morgan even looked a little emotional. There was nothing more to discuss after that. "Okay, come on," she said, getting up. "Let's get this stuff cleaned up." She picked up her plate and glass and started into the kitchen. Everyone rose and moved to do the same, but she held up her free hand. "Oh no, not you two," she said, pointing at their hosts. "The rule at my house is whoever cooks doesn't have to clean up. Besides, it's a special occasion, right? Sit down, we'll take care of it."

Reid grinned and leaned back in his chair. "I like this entertaining thing. I didn't realize it came with free household help."

JJ had an ulterior motive she hadn't mentioned, but was sure the others had picked up on. Their friends had just unloaded something that had to have been weighing on them for days or weeks, and she was sure they could use a minute to catch their breath. She marshaled Garcia and Morgan into a kitchen-cleaning force, and they proved rather cheerful helpers, nudging each other and making sexually-slanted jibes. She spied someone's iPod in a speaker dock on the counter and picked it up, scrolling through the menu until she found some Band of Horses and set it playing.

They made short work of the cleanup. Garcia headed for the dining room to get the tablecloth off the table, but stopped in the doorway. JJ and Morgan came up behind her; JJ felt a lump rise in her throat when she saw what had given Garcia pause. "No One's Gonna Love You" had come up on the iPod,** and her friends were standing in the dining room, holding each other close and swaying to the quiet music. He had her hand clasped in his and resting over his heart, her head bowed down to his shoulder, their eyes closed.

_I never wanna hear you say that you'd be better off, or you liked it that way, but no one's gonna love you more than I do._


	12. Chapter 12

_Seattle, Washington  
Present day_

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* * *

_  
_

 

When David Rossi wandered down to the hotel lounge for a nightcap, he was surprised to see Reid at the bar, leaning on his elbows, a glass of what looked like Scotch in front of him. He was alone.

Rossi meandered up to his side. "This seat taken?"

Reid looked around, blinking. "Hey, Dave. No, go ahead."

He sat down and signaled the bartender. "Dirty martini. Extra olives." He looked over at Reid's profile. "What are you doing here?"

"Having a drink."

"You drink brandy."

"Not tonight." Reid lifted the glass and knocked back the rest of the Scotch.

Rossi shook his head. "Take it from me. Whatever you did, whatever you said, go and admit any and all wrongdoing and apologize."

Reid looked at him. "I appreciate the advice, but given that you've been divorced three times, I might be inclined to do the opposite of whatever you say."

Rossi chuckled. "You've got me there."

Reid was turning his empty glass around and around in front of him. "So many divorces. You, Hotch, Gideon, Ryan – the only happily married agent I know is JJ and she's not a profiler."

"You saying that you're not happily married?"

Reid shot him a dirty look. "Of course I am. That's not what I meant."

"No, you meant that because all of our marriages failed, yours is doomed, too."

"What if it is?"

"Reid, if you think your marriage is doomed, then it's doomed. That's what we call a self-fulfilling prophecy."

Reid said nothing for a long time, just ordered another Scotch. Rossi drank his martini and waited. "You know, don't you?" Reid finally said, quietly.

"That you're an addict in recovery? Yes."

"Today was a hard day."

"For all of us."

"It was a hard day for my recovery, I mean. Emily knows what that looks like on me. She offered to leave the room so I could call my sponsor."

Rossi nodded. "Seems like a reasonable suggestion."

Reid shook his head. "I don't need to call him. I don't need her to tell me to call him."

"Did she? Tell you to call him?"

He looked up, confusion in his eyes. "I guess she didn't."

"That isn't what's bothering you."

"Why does she need to leave for me to call my sponsor? I never asked her to do that."

"I'm sure she just wanted to give you some privacy."

"I don't need privacy from her. Was she uncomfortable hearing what I might say? Didn't want to be confronted with the fact that she's stuck with an addict?"

Rossi shook his head. "Man, you are just looking for a reason, aren't you?"

"Well, then I kind of…said that she probably regrets marrying me," Reid said, half-muttering the words.

Rossi had to stop himself from laughing. "Bet that went over like a lead balloon."

"More like the Hindenburg." Reid pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers. "You know, when we first got together, we used to argue all the time about if we should tell the team. I wanted to, but she didn't. Partly because she was wondering if it was going to end. Now it's me waiting for the axe to fall. Why is that?" He looked over at Rossi. "I'm really asking."

"Because you're invested now. You're committed. Reid, your father walked out on you. Your mother is mentally ill, and part of you secretly believed that if she really loved you she would have been able to get better." Reid cut his eyes away, letting Rossi know he was right. "Once Emily committed to you, that was it for her. But for you, once you were all in, that's when the waiting started. Waiting for her to be driven away by whatever it is about you that drove your parents away, and drove Gideon away."

Reid shook his head. "None of that makes any sense."

"Not to your brain, maybe." Rossi sighed. "You know, it's just another form of narcissism. Making it all about you when it isn't about you. Your father couldn't handle things, so he left. Your mother has an illness. I've known Jason Gideon for years, and the only reason he lasted as long as he did is you, Reid. You were someone he could mentor and guide, a gift he could give to the murder victims of the world to ease his guilt about his own failures. He knew he couldn't help them for much longer, so he'd give them you to find their killers and avenge their deaths." Reid looked at him, wanting to be convinced, wanting to be told how to navigate through this. "You're the legacy he wanted to leave. Look around you. You don't drive people away, you draw them closer. You invite confidences, you ease conversation. Haven't you noticed that witnesses and victims talk easier to you than to me or Morgan or Hotch?"

Reid snorted. "Don't forget prostitutes."

Rossi smiled. "They like you because they can see your decency."

"What's this got to do with Emily?"

"Do you really not know?"

He met Rossi's eyes again, beseeching. "Tell me."

"When you tell her that she'll regret marrying you, you're making it all about you again."

"How?"

Rossi finished his martini and clapped Reid on the shoulder. "You'll figure it out. Go back to your wife, Spencer. It's there with her that you'll figure this out, not down here with me."

* * *

Reid let himself into the hotel room. It was dark but for the dim glow from the lights outside. Emily was an indistinct lump in the bed.

He undressed as quietly as he could and slid beneath the covers. He lay there for a moment, just long enough to be sure she wasn't asleep. He could tell by her breathing. He turned on his side and slid across the space between them, spooning up behind her and slipping one arm around her waist. He felt her relax and mold herself back against him, to his relief. She wasn't mad – or at least, not mad enough to withdraw from him.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

She slid her hand over his where it rested on her stomach. "I know." She fetched a deep sigh, then turned over so she was facing him, their noses mere inches apart. "You know why it makes me so mad when you say that?"

"Tell me."

"I'm not something that you deserve or don't deserve, or that you're going to lose or keep on the whims of fate. I'm a person who decided to be with you. I decide if I'm going to stay with you. So don't tell me what I'm going to do, or how I'm going to feel. It's not all about you."

He nodded. "So I've recently been reminded."

"Call your sponsor, don't call your sponsor, I just want you to take care of yourself. Quit using whatever comes to mind as an excuse why you're doomed to be alone. So you've got issues. So do I. We took on each other's issues when we said 'I do,' you know. What affects you, affects me. Don't use it as a reason to avoid being present in our marriage." She leaned forward and kissed him. "I'm too tired to go on with this."

"Are we okay?"

"Yes. Now go to sleep."

He kissed her again. "839."

"840," she whispered, then turned back to her other side, drawing the covers around herself. Reid lay there for a moment, undecided, until she reached back and drew his arm around her again.

* * *

Breakfast the next morning was a rather grim affair. Emily ordered an omelet but when it arrived, she didn't want it. Spencer sat next to her, picking at a bowl of soggy cereal. Morgan was trying to keep up conversation, but wasn't having much luck. Everyone was thinking about Elle. Emily could tell that Spencer still felt bad about their fight the night before. She reached over under the table and ran her hand over his thigh, a reassuring touch. He smiled at her and clasped her hand in his own, keeping it where it was.

Hotch's phone rang just as the second round of coffee was being sucked down. "Hotchner." His face went blank as he listened. "Yes, I understand. Right away." He hung up and looked around at the team. "That was Strauss. She wants us investigating Elle's death, she's already arranged it with the Dallas police department." He didn't looked thrilled at this end-run around JJ and his own authority, but he didn't comment on it. "We still have business here in Seattle, so Prentiss, Reid – pack your bags, you're going to Dallas. Garcia's going to meet you there – according to the detectives, Elle had set up quite the computer system."

Emily looked at Reid. He'd perked up at Hotch's instructions. "When do we leave?" he asked.

"As soon as you can pack. The jet will fly you there and then come back for us when we're ready to join you."

Reid tossed his napkin to the table, got up and walked out without another word. Emily hurriedly took one last sip of coffee, then followed.

* * *

_BAU jet  
Two hours later_

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* * *

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_

 

"It's weird being here when it's just us," Reid whispered, leaning toward her from the couch where he was sitting. She was at the table with her laptop. They'd been in the air about half an hour and so far it had been a quiet trip, both of them lost in their own thoughts.

"I know," she said. "There's entirely too much space."

"I don't know what to do with myself. We don't have anything from Dallas to go over but these crime scene photos, and we've already been over those."

She sighed. "What do you think?"

He thought for a moment. "I think Elle shouldn't be dead," he murmured, his face downcast.

"I think we should find out who did it and kick their ass."

That got a small smile. "I'll hold them down, you're better at kicking ass than me."

"You do all right."

"I've had better luck just talking at people until they surrender out of sheer desperation."

She got up and joined him on the couch. "I like listening to you talk," she said, infusing her tone with a little flirtiness.

He eyed her. "What is going on in there?" he asked, glancing at her forehead.

"Well…we don't have any case files to go over…a few hours to kill…" She walked her fingers up his sleeve.

A knowing smirk crept onto his face. "Agent Prentiss, are you trying to seduce me?"

She turned off the teasing. "I know you're upset about Elle." He looked away, sobering. "But there's nothing we can do about it until we get to Dallas. Once we get there things are going to get busy. I'm just saying – let's relax."

"And engage in unauthorized making out on the FBI's jet?"

She smiled. "You make it sound so naughty, Agent Reid." She scooted closer and rested her chin on his shoulder. He took her hand and held it on his knee. "I missed you last night."

"I, uh – didn't think you'd want to," he said, hesitant. "I wasn't sure if you were still mad."

"There'll be fights. Worse fights, more fights. We have to move on and keep being us even if we're mad."

"I hate fighting with you. I hate worse that it was about…me, like that."

"Stop acting like you're some kind of war criminal. You had an addiction. You had it forced on you. You struggled with it, you stopped on your own. It's part of your history, you have to own it."

"I'm not like you, Emily. I can't just move on and accept things I've done that hurt others and not…I don't know."

"Not torture yourself about it?" She sighed. "I torture myself. In my own way." She shook her head. "See, now look what you did. You got us all serious again. I was just hoping for a little touch."

He grinned. The sight of it was like breaking dawn to her. "You want to join the Mile High Club?"

She laughed. "No. I don't think I could ever keep a straight face while going over cases with the team if I had a memory of screwing you on this couch. But…it's kind of like being a teenager again, making out in the backseat of someone's dad's car, staying dressed, wanting more but not daring." He opened his mouth and she held up a hand. "I know, I know. You were finishing your second PhD when you were a teenager, no back seats in sight."

He arched one elegant eyebrow. "I was going to say, for me it was more like making out in a deserted classroom with my chemistry TA and getting chalk in some places."

She took hold of his lapels and pulled him closer. "Teacher's pet."

He put his arms around her and bore her down to the couch, stretching out half over her. "Wanna see how I used to earn extra credit?"

* * *

_Dallas, TX_

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* * *

_  
_

 

Emily pulled up to DPD headquarters. It was hard to believe it was only two o'clock in the afternoon, it felt much later. Despite the enjoyable plane ride they'd passed, during which they'd both had to repeatedly stop each other from leaving hickeys in visible spots, now that they were here the weight of their task and its personal significance for the team was already heavy on her shoulders. They left their bags in the SUV and headed into the station. "Lieutenant O'Neill?" Reid said, approaching a tall, ruddy man in his forties.

"You the FBI?" O'Neill said.

Reid nodded. "I'm Dr. Reid, this is SSA Prentiss. Is our analyst here yet?"

"I just sent Detective Bullock to pick her up, he's the lead on the case. Be back in an hour or so." He shook their hands. "I understand Ms. Greenaway was a friend."

"Yes, she was."

"I'm sorry."

"Thanks. Is there someone who can take us to the crime scene?"

"Take you myself. C'mon."

They piled into his unmarked car and were driven to Richardson, where Elle had lived in a small ranch house. It was a pleasant, nondescript neighborhood. Emily was already profiling as they drove up to the house, and she could tell that Reid was, too.

O'Neill slit the crime-scene tape and let them in. "Not much to see."

"What we don't see tells us almost as much as what we do," Reid said, moving through the house to the kitchen, where the body had been found. The spray of blood on the wall was a shock. She felt Reid flinch at the sight of it. She glanced up at him; he had Profiler Face. Good. That meant he was detaching from his personal involvement and concentrating on the facts.

"Can I see the photo of her body?" he asked. Emily passed it to him. He looked at it, turned it this way and that, then stepped over the dried blood on the tiles to the other side of the island. "She was shot in the middle of the forehead, but fell this way. She must have turned just before the shot was fired. So she was – at the stove?"

Emily leaned over. "Doing what? You don't stand at a stove for no reason. There's no pot, no teakettle, nothing being cooked, nothing she was getting ready to cook. Could she have been facing this way?"

"No, if her attacker came in through the back door, she'd have seen him coming if she were facing this way."

"Unless he was already here, and snuck up from the opposite direction."

Reid nodded. "Right. Either way, she didn't have a chance to fight. The shot was clean and neat, indicating she was mostly stationary when it struck her." He turned to look at the bloodspray on the wall. "Spray is at head height." Emily watched his head turning this way and that. He found the scene just as puzzling as she did.

"This doesn't track with her surprising him," she said.

Reid nodded. "Say he jimmied the back door and came in. What, did he just wait here for her to happen to wake up and come downstairs?"

"Maybe she heard him," O'Neill said.

"He'd still have made it further into the house than the kitchen. It's ten steps from the back door to her body. If he disturbed her, in the time it took her to wake up and come downstairs he'd have been on his way up, at least. Not to mention she'd have brought her gun. If he came in here to kill her, his best bet would be to break in quietly, sneak upstairs and kill her while she slept."

Emily met his eyes. "Only one way she's down here without a struggle."

He nodded. "She let him in herself."

O'Neill had been listening to this. "But we know the lock was jimmied with a lockpicking tool of some kind, it left scratches."

"He could have done that anytime to make it look like there was a break-in. No, this UNSUB knocked on the door. She let him in, walked in here, maybe for a drink, but he shot her. She knew him." He sighed and shut the file. "If this was an execution, which all the forensics points to, then it was carried out by someone she already knew."

* * *

Garcia was at headquarters when they returned, set up with her laptop in a conference room they'd taken over. She jumped up as they entered and hurried over to embrace Reid. "You're a sight for sore eyes," he said, hugging her back.

"Oh, sweetie – our girl," she said, her voice choked and sad.

"We have to focus, Garcia."

"I can do that," she said, brusque again, returning to her laptop. "Elle's computers were taken into evidence, they're going to bring them here. In the meantime I'm digging a little deeper into some of her clients." A brash voice was heard out in the bullpen, heading their way. "Oh, and watch it," she said to them,  _sotto voce._  "That bullhorn you hear is Detective Bullock. He picked me up at the airport. He's a real piece of work," she muttered, sounding like she'd have preferred a more colorful turn of phrase.

Bullock barreled into the room, his eyes lasering in on Emily. "You the Feds? Yeah, they told me one a you was a gal. Jim Bullock, nice to meet you."

Reid kept to the background and watched Bullock shake hands with Emily. He wore the Good Old Boy veneer like a shield, cowboys boots and pegged jeans, his badge on his belt, his ruddy cheeks telling tales of many nights with a bottle of whiskey, the bay window hanging over his waistband telling of numerous porterhouse steaks. Bullock's eyes were raking up and down Emily's shapely figure. Reid swallowed past the mutterings of his inner alpha-male.

"Um...you too, Detective. I'm Agent Prentiss. We're going to need all the case files you have, as up to date as possible."

"You got it, ma'am. I just took over this case this morning, I've hardly had a chance to do more than glance over it." He saw Reid then, his grizzly eyebrows drawing together. "I thought there were two a you Feds. Who's this, an intern?"

Reid arched an eyebrow, but Emily responded before he could, her voice a little sharp. "Detective, this is SSA Dr. Spencer Reid. He's the ranking agent on this investigation until our unit chief arrives."

"Oh," Bullock said, sounding confused. "Well...pleased to meet you, Dr. Reid."

Reid shook the man's hand. "Likewise."

"Sorry bout that. It's jus – you look like a college student. You're a doctor? What are you doing in the FBI?"

"I'm not a medical doctor," Reid said, disinclined to explain himself any further. "Tell me about your case."

Bullock shifted gears. "Uniforms said it looked like a burglar she surprised, but that don't jibe with how she was found."

Reid's eyebrows shot up. "They were thinking burglar? A burglar who jimmied the back door and then patiently waited in the kitchen long enough for her to come downstairs so he could shoot her right between the eyes, then left without taking anything?"

Bullock chuckled. "Yeah, well. It's a theory. Looks to me like she let the guy in and he faked the break-in later."

Reid nodded. "That's the same conclusion we drew."

"Anyhow, she had a Glock in her upstairs nightstand. If she heard some burglar breakin in, I think she'd a had it on her when she died."

Emily's phone rang. "It's JJ," she said to Reid, jerking her head out the door.  _I'm going to take this outside._  He nodded and she left the room. Reid turned to the evidence board Garcia had begun.

Bullock came to stand at his side, pretending to examine the photographs. "Say, Stretch – what's that gal's name? Pressman?"

"Agent Prentiss."

"Yeah." He whistled low. "Sure is pretty. How you get any work done round that all day?"

Reid bristled at hearing his wife referred to as "that," but managed to keep his voice even. "Agent Prentiss is a professional, Detective. She does just as much work as any of us do." He turned around, picked up a file and sat down at the conference table across from Garcia, who had her lips clamped shut over the smart remarks that were no doubt clawing to get out. He hoped that'd be the end of Bullock's solicitations, but it was not.

"Huh," Bullock said. "Fine lookin' woman. Wouldn't mind bein' on the wrong side of her handcuffs, eh, Stretch?" he said, chuckling and winking at Reid like they were co-conspirators in some kind of parlor game. "Wonder if she'd enjoy a nice night out on the town with an old cowboy like me," Bullock went on. "She single?"

Reid cleared his throat. "Actually, she's married."  _You're some detective if you missed the ring on her finger. Which I put there. Not that it's any of your business._

"Oh yeah? Damn. That figures. How's her husband feel bout her gallivanting all over the country in all kinds a danger?"

"Oh, he's fine with it," he said. Garcia's face was flushed and her shoulders were shaking with suppressed mirth.

"Well, if she was mine I sure as hell wouldn't want her round all these randy cops," Bullock said, chuckling.

Garcia jumped up. "Excuse me, I have to...um...excuse me," she stammered, and hurried out, smothered giggles in her wake.

Bullock watched her go. "She's a real cute bird too. I like a woman with some pizzazz to her, a little meat on her bones."

Reid had had about all he could take. "Detective, we try to have a good working relationship with the jurisdictions we assist. You're not making it easy," he said, fixing Bullock with a flat stare.

"Sorry, meant no offense," Bullock said, putting up his hands. "Just us guys talkin'."

Emily came back in, Garcia right behind her. Emily had an oddly plastic smile on her face. She leaned right over him, her hand going to his shoulder. "Honey, I'm going to check in to the hotel while we wait for the files. Do you need your laptop?"

"I brought it in with me," he said, cocking one eyebrow.

"Okay. I'm going to stop off for coffee, you want some?"

"Umm…sure."

"Be back soon." She leaned down and kissed him right on the mouth, then straightened up and left the room, ignoring Bullock entirely. Reid shot a withering glance at Garcia, who was playing innocent and appeared hard at work.

The silence after her departure was deafening. Finally, Bullock harrumphed loudly. "You coulda told me she was married to  _you,_ " he grumbled. "Wouldn't a said those things."

Reid sighed. "Detective, you should respect Agent Prentiss because  _she_  deserves it, not because I do. She's not my property. Now, can you see about those files? There's a time factor here."

Bullock fidgeted for a moment, then turned and walked out.

Garcia snickered. "Pwned," she said.

"He didn't need to know about Emily and me, Garcia," Reid said. "And it was unprofessional for her to kiss me in front of him."

"Hey, he started it with the unprofessional. Besides, it was worth it for the look on his good ole boy face when he saw that the purty little gal was married to the guy he thought was an intern."


	13. Chapter 13

_Dallas, Texas  
Present day_

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Retiring to their hotel room did not mean the end of the night's work. Tomorrow would be about talking to Elle's friends in the area, tonight was about her professional life. Emily sat on the bed with a whole stack of bound papers, the reports that Elle had produced for her clients over the last year. She was looking for anything that might have prompted someone to kill. Reid sat at the desk by the window with printouts of Elle's profile notes, the raw data she'd used to generate her reports. It was mind-numbing and dull, and Emily was only grateful she had the shorter stack of papers.

For over an hour after beginning, the only sound in the room was the rustle of paper and the occasional scratch of someone's pen. Elle's reports were thorough. She talked about the situations in which employees would commit fraud and how to avoid them, personal problems that were most likely to drive someone to steal or cheat, and interview strategies for when fraud was suspected. Over and over again, she told her clients that the best way to minimize the risk of employee fraud was to keep the employees happy and make them feel valued and invested in the company's success.  _Huh. Wonder how many of them took that advice._

She put aside a report and slid off the bed. "Stepping out for some air," she said. Reid barely glanced up; he was neck-deep in notes and questionnaires. She slid open the door to the small balcony, stepped out and shut it behind her. It was cool but not uncomfortably so, and the night air felt refreshing. The Dallas nighttime skyline was spread out in front of her, here on the tenth floor of their hotel.

She heard the door open and shut again, then his arms came around her waist. She leaned back into his warmth as he ducked his head to kiss her neck. "Looking for criminals from on high like Batman?" he whispered.

"Yep. Any second now I'll swoop down over the rooftops and exact vigilante justice. You wanna be my Boy Wonder?" He chuckled and wrapped her up tighter. "You having any luck in there?"

He sighed. "Not so far. Page after page of disgruntled office workers, women bitter they got passed over for promotions, men sleeping with co-workers and afraid of being caught out – it's like Peyton Place in these companies."

"Hey, the Bureau's no bastion of Puritanical righteousness." They were quiet for a few moments.

"I forgot to ask you something," he said.

"What?"

"Last night, when we were arguing – did you actually call me a 'solipsist mad science experiment?'" The smile was audible in his voice.

Emily grinned. "I might have, yeah. Although technically, I think I said that you  _weren't_  a solipsist mad science experiment."

Spencer chuckled. "You're the woman of my dreams, you know that? You know just as much about serial killers as I do, you look amazing in a tank top and when you're mad you throw out words like 'solipsist.'"

"Don't forget that I make a killer German chocolate cake," she said.

"There's that, too." He rested his cheek against the side of her head. Despite his joking tone, she could feel the tension and the sadness in his body. Her hands stroked his forearms where they were wrapped around her midsection. "I wonder when they'll have Elle's funeral," he said, his voice subdued.

"Hotch said probably the day after tomorrow. Her family's on their way."

"They don't want to take her back to Gainesville?"

"They're hosting a service here for friends and colleagues, then taking her ashes back with them for a family event there."

He nodded. "I hope we'll be able to take the time to go."

"We will." She ached for his loss, and that of the others. She wished she could share it on a visceral level. She turned around to face him; his expression was downcast.  _Maybe I can make him feel better, anyway._  She kissed him, pressing closer so he wouldn't mistake it for a quick peck.

"Hmm," he said, pulling back. "What's this?"

"Oh, nothing," she said, smiling and playing with his hair. "You look pretty good to me right now."

He kissed her again. "You always look good to me." Another kiss, longer and deeper. "But..." He sighed and ran his hand down her cheek. "I can't right now," he whispered. "I need to focus. I'm just not in that place."

She nodded, slightly disappointed. "Okay. I understand." She leaned her forehead against his. His hands stroked her back as they stood there, not speaking for a moment. "Thought I could take your mind off it for a little while," she finally said.

He nodded. "I know. But I don't want my mind off it yet."

"Then let's get back to work."

* * *

The next morning, Emily and Reid stumbled into the police station, both of them bleary-eyed. They'd been up late finishing Elle's reports but at least they'd gotten through the whole stack. Garcia was way too chipper.

"Well, good morning!" she crowed. "You two look like you had a  _late night,_ " she said, smirking and winking at them.

"Oh, we did," Emily said.

Garcia's eyebrows shot up. "Yeah?"

"Not like  _that._  We were reading Elle's reports and notes," Reid said, rolling his eyes as he sat down at their worktable.

"Did you find anything?"

"Just that white-collar corporations are hotbeds of intrigue and dissatisfaction."

"I coulda told you that," Garcia muttered. "Well, her computers just got here so I'm going to start in on that, and the coroner's report should be here any minute. You heard from Hotch today?"

Reid shook his head. "No."

"He just called in for some DNA results, it sounds like they're wrapping it up in Seattle."

"Good," Emily said. "We could use the help."

"I don't know," Reid said. "I'm kind of enjoying being in charge."

Garcia looked across at Emily. "I can see his head swelling from here."

"Don't worry. If he gets drunk with power I have enough blackmail material to blast him back to the Stone Age."

"Sitting right here," he grumbled, unloading folders from his bag.

"Oh, sweetie," Garcia said, reaching over to the sleeve of his sweater. "You have a big hole in your sleeve. This one should really be retired to the Home for Elderly Sweaters."

He glanced at the hole. "I like this sweater."

"Like you don't have two hundred more at home."

Reid got up. "I need some coffee if we're going to be deconstructing my wardrobe." He grumped out of the room, leaving Garcia and Emily to laugh at him.

"How many sweaters does he have, anyway?" Garcia asked.

"How should I know?"

"Don't you live near him?"

"I've never counted his  _sweaters._  I can tell you that they have their own closet."

Garcia's mouth dropped open. "Seriously?"

"When I first saw the remodeled house I wondered why there were so many closets. I don't wonder anymore. Also, I know now that he set it up assuming that I'd be living there and would need space."

"Aww. That's so sweet."

"Or presumptuous."

Reid came back in with two cups of coffee. He set one in front of Emily without a word and sat back down. Emily smiled – one cream, one sugar, just as she liked it. "So, what do we know?" Reid said.

"Well, the cops have talked to Elle's neighbors. According to them, Elle lived a quiet life, not many friends, kept to herself," Emily said. "She didn't have consistent co-workers, being a consultant. They're asking around at the job she was working at the time of her death."

"Any indication of a boyfriend?"

"Not so far, but I think PG might be able to tell us more about that."

Garcia was studying her monitors. "Okay, Scarecrow and Mrs. King, you wanna know if someone's in a relationship, you look at their financials. I bet if I took a peek at the Reid-Prentiss household expenditures I'd find some romantic dinners, date-night concert tickets and maybe some sexy lingerie purchases?" she said, smirking hopefully at them.

"Lace doesn't flatter my complexion," Reid deadpanned, not rising to Garcia's bait. Emily snorted.

"Oh, you'd look good in a paper sack, sweetie pie," Garcia said, blowing him a kiss. "Anyway, looking at Elle's? I call secret boyfriend."

"Yeah?"

"No lingerie, but we have a lot of dinners where she paid for one person's meal."

Emily nodded. "Nobody goes out to eat alone that much."

"So either she was out with friends or she was going Dutch. And she doesn't seem to have had that many friends. Plus she's splitting dessert. That's a boyfriend thing."

"Not in my world. I need my own dessert," Emily said.

"And sometimes half of mine, too," Reid muttered.

"And starting about three months ago there's a decided uptick in personal-care expenses. Waxing, more expensive perfume, some new makeup. She wanted to look good for somebody. And nobody gets a Brazilian unless they're planning for someone to see their bathing-suit area."

Reid frowned. "What's a Brazilian?"

Emily and Garcia exchanged a look. "You don't want to know, honey," Emily said. She'd had one years ago when a former boyfriend seemed to think it was important than she do so. She'd dumped him soon afterwards. No man was worth that torture. Fortunately, the one she had now had never commented on her grooming habits except to tell her she looked beautiful. "So she had a boyfriend her neighbors and co-workers didn't know about."

"Somebody knew about him," Reid said. "If there's anything universal about humans it's that they have to tell somebody when they're dating someone, even if they're dating secretly."

Garcia grinned. "Who'd you guys tell when you were dating secretly?"

Reid sighed. "You know, it's moments like this when I wish we were  _still_  dating secretly." Garcia just looked at him expectantly. "I told my mother," he said.

"I told my friend Germany," Emily said.

Reid gaped at her. "You told  _Germany?_ "

"Why is that so shocking? She's one of my best friends."

"Because Germany is six feet tall and could break me in half."

"She wouldn't, though. She likes you. Can we get back to the subject at hand? If Elle told someone about her secret boyfriend we haven't heard about it yet."

"We'll have to dig a little deeper to find her real friends. Let's get Bullock working on that," Reid said.

Emily nodded. "Anything else, Garcia?"

Garcia was squinting at her screen. "Yeah, I think there is." She looked up at them. "In the past three weeks, Elle's made two appointments. One's with a new OB/GYN, another's at a sperm bank. She was looking into getting inseminated."

"She broke up with whoever she was dating," Emily said.

"Are you sure?" Reid asked.

"Oh, yeah. You don't start considering single motherhood when you're dating someone, even if it's too early in the relationship to be talking about getting pregnant." She kept her eyes averted from him during this recitation. The last thing she needed was for them to start the wheels turning on  _that_  subject. She preferred not to think about it or talk about it, and he was perfectly willing for her to avoid it altogether.

"So she had a boyfriend, broke up with him," Reid repeated to himself, thoughtful.

"Is that connected to her death?" Garcia asked.

"Possibly. A woman is far more likely to be killed by a man in her life than by a stranger. But if this killing, as we've theorized, was motivated by the killer's desire to get her out of the way or silence her, that changes things a little. If we're talking about Elle having accidentally discovered someone's criminal activity, it's highly probable that it happened in the course of her work."

"We also think she let her killer in, though. If it was the boyfriend that explains that."

"So she's dating this man. She finds out something about him she shouldn't. She breaks up with him. He finds out she knows something. He kills her."

Emily frowned. "That's pretty thin."

"Pure speculation. We don't know for sure there is such a person, and we don't know of any reason he had to kill her, and we don't know if she'd found something out."

"There might be something on her computer," Garcia said.

"In the meantime we should try and figure out who she was dating. If nothing else he can tell us more about her activities before her death. Her life seems to center around work, so she's most likely to have met him through a client," Reid said, reaching for a file. "If she started seeing him three months ago, we should start with whoever she was working for at the time."

"No," Emily said. "The client before that."

He looked at her, frowning. "Why?"

"Everything I've read and seen of Elle's work tells me she was meticulous and careful. She maintains a professional demeanor even in her private notes. She wouldn't get involved with someone working for her client while she was still on the job."

Reid was nodding. "She'd wait until after the job was done and she'd moved on to the next." He flipped a couple of pages. "Here it is. A brokerage firm, McKinniss Securities. I read her notes on them last night. They got a very positive evaluation from her, she characterized their risk of employee theft as very low."

Emily had pulled out Elle's official report. "She praised their employee incentive programs and their benefits, and her breakdown of staff complaints reveals relatively few employees she assessed as high risk of committing fraud."

"If she felt that her clients were good people she'd be more apt to begin a relationship with someone at the firm," Reid said.

"We need to go talk to the people she worked with closely while on this job."

He was already getting up. "Garcia, start compiling lists of all staff, down to the janitors and cleaning crew. I have notes here for all the people Elle spoke to, but that's not everyone. We need to know everything about all of them. Start looking through everyone's financials and cross-check with Elle's. See if we can ferrett out the boyfriend."

"You got it," Garcia said, already a step ahead of them.

"We'll be at McKinniss." They hurried out the door to their SUV. Emily got behind the wheel.

"This is going to take forever," she muttered. "How many people did she have close contact with during her month there?"

"Forty-seven." He was flipping through his notes. "We'll have to split up."

"That's not protocol."

"We'll be there forever unless we do."

"This is why there are usually six of us in the field." She merged onto the highway towards downtown. "Do you think whoever Elle dated with could be married? You know, her leaving him could be as simple as that. She found out he was married."

"I doubt it. She'd have known who was married and who wasn't before she started the affair. If he's married, she knew." He glanced at her. "I wouldn't have thought that was her style."

Emily sighed. "Love makes people do funny things. You don't always get to choose."

He looked at her. She could feel the weight of his gaze. "You sound like you're speaking from experience."

"I've had a few ill-advised encounters in my time. I've never slept with a married man that I know of – except the one I'm married to, of course."

He nodded. "I got involved with someone once when I knew I shouldn't."

She glanced at him, one eyebrow cocking, pre-emptive jealousy stirring in her guts. "Oh really? Who might that be?"

He smirked. "That'd be you, Mrs. Reid."

Emily laughed. "Oh. I guess so." She was quiet for a moment. "So why did you?"

"Why did I what?"

"Get involved with me against your better judgment."

"I was sick of listening to my better judgment. Besides, you were so…" He hesitated. Emily watched him, smiling. "When the moment presented itself – I thought, to hell with it. I'm going for it."

"Wait, what moment?"

"In that hotel room in Minnesota. The custodial interview? I kissed you, remember?"

Emily's mouth dropped open. "Excuse me, but I believe  _I_  kissed  _you._ "

"No way. I made the first move."

"You did not!" she crowed. "I can't believe you're taking credit for it!"

Reid clucked his tongue. "Whatever lets you sleep at night, Lola."

"You are impossible  _and_  deluded."

"I am not deluded, I kissed you first and then I asked you out on a date."

"This is a fascinating and totally fictional version of history you have going here,  _darling._  Anyway, even if you kissed me first, would you ever have made it to my bedroom if I hadn't dragged you there?"

"Ah ha! You admit that I kissed you first!"

"I admit nothing of the kind, it was a hypothetical!" They were both shouting and half-laughing by this time. "Anyway, does it matter? The end result was good either way."

He relaxed back into his seat. "No, it doesn't matter in the slightest." They were silent for a few blocks. "But I totally kissed you first," he muttered.


	14. Chapter 14

_Dallas, TX  
present day_

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After the fourth time, Emily was heartily sick of the spiel she had to give to each McKinniss staff member she spoke to. You remember Elle Greenaway? I'm sorry to tell you she's dead. Yes, it's horrible. I'm afraid she was murdered. That's what we're trying to determine. And golly gee, I'd love to answer your question about whether we suspect her killer works here but if I do, you might not tell me anything at all, so I'm going to smile sympathetically and lie through my teeth while I watch you for signs of deception.

She couldn't imagine how much harder it was for Reid, who had the emotional aspect of grieving Elle himself, which would make it that much more difficult to present the appropriate attitude to these people, all of whom had, so far, been helpful and nice, wanting only to do what they could to assist the FBI in finding Elle's killer.

None of her four interviewees had displayed any signs of guilt, nor did any of them have any idea if Elle could have been seeing someone at their company socially. She was fairly confident in their truthfulness. She dutifully took notes and recorded what they said, even though she was pretty sure none of it would be of any consequence.

She stopped for a drink of water before going to the office of her next subject. She was bent over the water fountain when her cell phone rang. She pulled it out – Garcia. "Hey."

"Emily, I…I found something."

She glanced around, a little alarmed by Garcia's sober tone. "What?"

"Reid asked me to get information on all the employees at McKinniss that Elle  _didn't_  talk to."

A moment of silence. "And?" Emily prompted her.

"One of them is named Nathan Harris."

_Nathan Harris._

The sound of that name was like a deep, ominous bell tolling in Emily's guts. She sank into a chair by the window. "It can't be the same one. That's not an uncommon name."

"He's 21, the right age. He works in the IT department, he's a computer tech. Hired six months ago."

"Oh, good God." She put her hand to her forehead. "Even if it is him – does it mean anything?"

"You guys always say there are no coincidences, right?"

"But Elle didn't talk to him when she was doing her interviews, and even if she had, she didn't know him. That case was after she'd already left."

"I know, but…if it's really him, it's got to be connected."

Emily shook her head. "That boy haunts him, Penelope."

"I know. That's why I called you first, I didn't know what to do. Should I tell him?"

"No! Not yet. Not until we're sure."

"Okay. I'll do some checking and verify that it's him. Should I call you?"

"Yeah. Let me tell him." Emily sighed. "And you might start going through the records for unsolved murders. Look for prostitutes with stab wounds in their abdomens."

"It's kind of a big leap from him working here to that he's killing prostitutes."

"I just want to have as much information as possible when I tell Reid about this. You know he'll ask."

"I know. I'll call you back soon." She hung up.

Emily just sat there for a minute, trying to wrap her brain around this new development. Nathan Harris worked  _here._  A young boy Gideon had judged an inevitable killer was now here, in a place where Elle Greenaway had been killed by someone who wanted her out of the way. Elle Greenaway, who had been a profiler.

_But not stabbed. Shot, execution-style._

Unless he'd undergone a total personality transplant, that was not Nathan Harris's style. He'd been so desperate to quiet the urge to kill that he'd attempted suicide, for crying out loud. What could have led him to start killing now?

_He didn't need anything to lead him to killing. It was already there inside him. He just needed to let down his guard for one…tiny…moment._

"Hey," said a familiar voice. Emily looked up to find Reid standing over her. "You look far away."

She quickly arranged her face into an expression she hoped looked casual. "Just thinking."

"I think I have something. I just talked to the head of HR, she and Elle worked together a lot. She remembers Elle getting a little friendly with one of the supervisors in the IT department."

"Is he married?"

"No. She was very adamant that she didn't know firsthand if anything went on between them, but she said she 'sensed something,'" he said, making air quotes with his fingers.

"What's his name?"

"Kurt Harmon. I already called Garcia and got her working on him."

"You said – he's a supervisor in the IT department?"  _In other words, he's Nathan Harris's boss. The coincidences just keep piling up._

"Yeah, she said he was Elle's contact for the personnel in that department. I think we ought to go over there and talk to him," he said, pointing toward the elevators and taking a step away.

Emily jumped up, having visions of them walking into the IT department and Reid seeing Nathan Harris sitting at his desk. Worse, Nathan might see  _them._ "No, let's wait until we know more about him. Let Garcia work up a file."

He considered this for a moment. "Okay. We should go back to the station, anyway. Check in with Bullock and Garcia, call Hotch. And I'm starving, it's past one."

"Good idea," she said, hoping she didn't sound too eager to agree.

They were nearly to the car when Emily's phone rang again. She held up a wait-a-minute finger to Reid. He nodded and got in the passenger seat. "Garcia?"

"It's him, Emily. I found his driver's license and matched it to his address in Dallas. I have not found any dead prostitutes with that signature. Still looking, widening the search to surrounding cities."

Emily sighed. "Okay. I'll tell him."

"If we find out that Nathan Harris has been killing people…"

"I know," Emily said, looking at her husband's silhouette through the car window as he pored over the file on his lap. "I know."

She hung up, steeled herself and got in. "Any news?" Reid asked.

"Um…a little."  _Just tell him now._  She turned in her seat so she was facing him.

Reid immediately sensed her seriousness and turned his attention from the file. "Emily, what is it?"

For a moment, she was at a loss. She wished she could say what she was thinking.  _A long time ago you saved a boy's life, a boy who was troubled, a boy you've always feared would repay that act by taking the lives of others. Before I tell you that your worst nightmare might be coming true, first let me remind you that you're a hero. You've saved many people, slayed many dragons, and helped victims get over terrible tragedies. And even if none of that helps, maybe this will: you're a sweet, amazing man, I'm proud to be your wife, and every day I love you more._

_Yeah. That'll put his mind at ease._

"That was Garcia. She's been compiling data on all the staff at McKinniss, including the ones Elle never talked to."

"Right."

She took a deep breath. "Someone we know works at McKinniss."

He frowned. "Who?"

 _Here goes._  "Nathan Harris."

She watched his face. For a moment nothing happened. He looked like he'd been freeze-framed. Then, tension crept into the corners of his eyes and mouth; she was probably the only one who knew his responses well enough to spot it. "Elle never had any contact with him," he said. "His name wasn't in her notes."

"No, as far as we know, she didn't know he existed."

"Then his presence is probably unconnected to her death."

"We can't be sure about that."

His lips had all but disappeared into a tense line. "Are there any unsolved…"

"…deaths in the area that match his signature? No."

He nodded, and the tension in his body eased up minutely. "We can't be too confident in that signature. He was influenced by what he saw in the bodies of prostitutes that were killed by someone else. He may have evolved."

She reached out and put a hand on his arm. "There's no reason to think he's been killing."

"Gideon said it wasn't a question of if, but when."

"And Gideon was never wrong about anything, was he?" Emily said, her voice sharper than she meant it to be. He said nothing. Emily watched him for a moment, then started up the car.

The drive back to the police station passed in silence. Reid stared out the window, his jaw clenched, his chin resting on his hand. Emily knew that look, it was the look he got when his brain was really cooking on something personally troubling. Traffic was bad on the freeway and they crawled along at fifteen miles an hour. Emily reached over and put her hand on the back of his neck, gently kneading the tense muscles. He leaned into her touch slightly, but didn't speak or shift his eyes away from the window.

When they reached the station, Bullock was in with Garcia. "You got something at McKinniss?" he said as he rose to his feet, dispensing with pleasantries.

"Maybe," Reid said. "Possible lead on someone Elle might have had a personal relationship with."

"Well, I been doin' what you asked," Bullock said, opening a surprisingly organized notebook. "Coverin' the more pedestrian motives." He cleared his throat. "Her neighbors got nothin' bad ta say, no disputes. No disgruntled clients, no pendin' legal actions, no complaints. I got a couple leads fer you two on personal friends. One's a lady name a Jerrell Ross, the other's a nurse, Evelyn Childress." He handed Emily a piece of paper with the names and numbers on them. "The nurse was easy, there was a birthday card from her on the fridge. As for the other – well, when I went through the house, the lady had a bag from Barnes & Noble with two new books in it. One was a computer manual, the other was a literary type book, like them books Oprah reads. Looked at her bookshelves and most of it is nonfiction. Criminal procedure, behavioral stuff like what you all do, true crime. Also some biography and a fair number of art books. Was only one shelf of fiction and they was all together. All that same type a book. No mysteries, no romances, all them highbrow literary ones. 'Bout a dozen in all. Them are some weird reading habits, only one kind a fiction. Most likely explanation is…"

Reid was smiling. "She was in a book club."

"Exactly what I figgered. So I call the bookstore, they say yeah, they give a discount for the book club members, gimme the name a the lady who hosts the club. She told me that Elle was real close with this Jerrell Ross, fact it was her that got Elle to go to the book club."

Emily and Reid exchanged a glance. Bullock had struck her as fairly average, but that was actually a pretty decent piece of detective work. Reid seemed impressed. "That's good, Detective."

"I may be a redneck, but I ain't dumb, Dr. Reid," Bullock said, his tone neutral, as if he were accustomed to being presumed stupid. "Despite havin' thought you was an intern."

"We'll question these women. They may know if Elle was involved with someone," Emily said.

"I got some more folks at her current job ta question," Bullock said. "I'll check in with y'all later." He touched the brim of his hat to them and left.

"We should go talk to these friends of Elle's," Reid said.

Emily held out a hand. "Lunch? Did you forget you were hungry?" Such a thing would not be out of character.

He blinked at her. "Oh. Right."

She laughed. "We'll grab something on the way. Come on."

* * *

Jerrell Ross lived about ten minutes from Elle's house in an upscale, tree-lined neighborhood. Reid couldn't help but profile the house as they walked to the door.  _Nicely maintained, but not a carbon copy of the other houses. Some quirky touches in the landscaping. Red trim around the windows, that's bold. Carved stone house numbers look handmade, like something you buy at an art festival. Mini Cooper in the driveway, four or five years old. She doesn't care about the trappings of money._

They rang the bell. Mrs. Ross answered quickly. She was black, fortyish, with striking silver-gray dreadlocks and large artisan jewelry. "Yes?" she asked.

"Mrs. Ross, we're with the FBI, I'm Agent Prentiss, and this is…"

"Dr. Reid?" the woman said, smiling a little.

Reid glanced at Emily. "Uh…yes. Have we met?"

"No. Elle talked about you."

"You recognize me?"

"She said you were tall, very thin, and looked like a graduate student. Surely there isn't another FBI agent of that description?"

Emily smiled. "I wouldn't think so. Mrs. Ross, we've come to ask you some questions about Elle, if you don't mind."

"Of course. Come in. And please, call me Jerrell." She showed them into a colorful living room full of art. She sat in a chair opposite the couch and smiled at them as they took their seats. "Elle mentioned she'd run into you recently at a conference, Dr. Reid."

"Yes, just last week. Mrs. Ross…"

"Jerrell, please."

"All right. Jerrell, we've been trying to determine if Elle was seeing someone these past few months."

She nodded sadly. "She was, though she didn't talk about it."

"Who was it she was seeing?"

"As I said, she didn't talk about it. She said it was someone she met through work, but she never told me his name. I never met the man. I saw his car outside her house once."

"Can you describe it?"

"It was a Prius. Dark blue." Emily wrote it down, though she didn't need to. They already knew that Kurt Harmon drove a blue Prius. Jerrell looked out the window. "I don't think they were still seeing each other, though. A few weeks ago something happened. I don't know what, but it upset her. She was distracted, agitated. She was supposed to go to Martha's Vineyard with the man she was seeing but the trip was canceled. I'm afraid that's all I know about it."

Reid watched the woman's elegant, unlined face. "Pardon my asking, Mrs. Ross, but you seem very calm for someone who's just lost a friend."

She nodded. "I'm sure I do. Dr. Reid, my philosophies may be strange, but they offer me comfort. I have no belief in an afterlife or a heavenly reward, let alone a punishment in hell. I believe no one is lost so long as the people who cared about them remember and continue to care. I cared for Elle a great deal. My life is poorer for her death. But she continues to live. You cared for her too, didn't you?"

Reid swallowed hard. "I did, yes."

"That's good. She cared for you, and the other agents on your team who she left behind. She talked about all of her old friends, but you in particular, like you were a younger brother of whom she was proud." She smiled. "When she told me she'd seen you at the conference, she said you'd gotten married. She was surprised, but pleased. She was glad you'd met someone who 'got it,' I believe were her words."

"Actually, this is my wife right here," Reid said, cocking his head towards Emily, throwing protocol out the window for the moment. Something about this woman invited confidences.

"Is that so? How special it must be to be able to work together."

He glanced at Emily. "Yes, it is." He took a deep breath. "You've been very helpful, Mrs. Ross. If you think of anything else, no matter how insignificant it seems, please call us." He handed her his card as he and Emily rose to their feet.

She walked them to the door. "I'll hope to see you tomorrow at the memorial service."

"We'll be there," Emily said. They started to leave.

"Agent Prentiss?"

They turned back. Mrs. Ross smiled at her. "My husband is twelve years my junior. Don't let anyone tell you it's strange. My feeling is that it's the best possible arrangement."

Emily grinned. "I couldn't agree more."

* * *

When they got back to the station, Garcia was surrounded by computer equipment. "Elle's system?" Reid asked.

"Yep. Not a system you'd get straight out of the box. And unless she's taken a crash course in hardware design it's way beyond her. Someone set this up for her, and recently."

"Someone like IT supervisor Kurt Harmon?" Emily mused.

"I'd bet money on it," Garcia said. "The thing is, there's something missing."

"What?"

"An external hard drive. I've found paths to files that lead to a drive that isn't here."

"The killer must have taken it," Emily said.

"Which means he knew what was on it, and exactly what to take," Reid said. "Again, this points to Kurt Harmon. What kinds of files were on it?"

"That's going to take some more sleuthing, Sherlock. I'm on it. Oh, and Hotch called. He and the team are wheels up in an hour, they'll be here by nightfall."

Reid nodded. "That's good. They'll be here for the funeral."

"It's tomorrow?" Garcia said, looking up at him with big eyes.

"In the afternoon."

She blinked, her eyes shining. "I'm trying not to think about it."

Emily squeezed her shoulder, then looked up at Reid. "What do you want to do now?"

"Want?" he said. "I want to find Nathan Harris and demand to know if he's been killing people. But…" He hesitated, then sighed. "So far there's no indication he is killing, or that he's connected to Elle's death at all. This could be a coincidence."

"With one execution-style murder, there's nothing to work from to build a profile."

"Profiling won't help us identify this killer, but it could help us interrogate him when we're sure we've got the right guy. Garcia, you keep working on Harmon, and Elle's files. Emily and I are going to head to McKinniss and see if we can talk to the mysterious Mr. Harmon."


	15. Chapter 15

_FBI Academy, Quantico, VA  
one year ago_

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* * *

_  
_

 

Assistant Director Strauss was making them wait, and Aaron Hotchner didn't like it one bit. He and Rossi weren't recalcitrant students being sent to the principal's office to get their wrists slapped, they were here on legitimate business and they shouldn't be made to sit outside in the corridor like a couple of lackeys.

"Relax," Rossi muttered, able to sense his tension as always.

"Easy for you to say, you're not the one she's going to blame for this."

"How can she blame you?"

"She'll say I should have come to her sooner, that I knew about it and did nothing, an accusation which has the unfortunate drawback of being the truth."

"What should you have done? Sent them both to their rooms and forbid them from seeing each other? These are adults we're talking about."

Hotch looked at his watch. "Ten minutes. What's she doing in there? She knew we were coming."

"Probably wants to finish a level on Bejeweled," Rossi said.

Strauss's office door opened and she beckoned them inside. "Gentlemen," she said, motioning them into the chairs before her desk. "What can I do for you? You indicated this was a matter of some urgency."

"Yes. I have something to report, regarding my team members. It'll soon be on the record but I wanted you to be advised by me in person."

"Go ahead."

"Two of my team members – are engaged."

Strauss didn't seem concerned. "Is that so? Which two?"

"Emily Prentiss and Spencer Reid."

"Well, that's happy news." Hotch glanced at Rossi. This was not the reaction he'd been expecting. "So they'll both be taking some time off?"

"I expect so…" Hotch said, his confusion deepening.

"Well, do what you can to make sure they don't take it at the same time. You don't want to be down two agents at once."

The light dawned. "No, you don't understand," Hotch said, his stomach sinking. "They're engaged  _to each other._ "

Strauss just stared at him for a moment. "Wait – two of your team members are going to be married?"

"Yes."

"And – did you say Agent Prentiss and  _Dr. Reid?_ "

"That's correct."

"But – why?"

Rossi spoke up. "I think they have the usual reasons for wanting to get married, Erin."

Strauss seemed to recover from her shock. "Of course, yes. I'm sorry, it's just a bit of a surprise." She refocused on Hotch. "How long has this been going on?"

"I'm told they've been seeing each other for a year."

"Naturally, you knew nothing about this."

"Their personal lives are none of my business."

"You expect me to believe, with how tightly knit your team is, that you had no idea that two of your agents had fallen into a – romantic situation?"

The phraseology struck Hotch as unbearably funny, and he had to exert some effort to keep his face stoic. "Believe what you wish. I have no control over what they do in their private lives."

"One of them will have to be transferred. Immediately."

"I'd strongly recommend against that," Rossi said.

"Why?"

"You said it yourself. The team is tightly knit. We've learned to work with the pieces we have, removing one of them could be disastrous to the group dynamic that's so important to closing our cases – which we do 85% of the time, I might add, the highest close rate in the Bureau."

"Spare me the propaganda, Agent Rossi. The Bureau has very clear guidelines about relationships between agents, and…"

"Guidelines which have been ignored time and again for convenience or operational efficiency," Hotch said

"Those rules are meant to prevent a superior taking advantage of a subordinate," Rossi said. "And I oughta know."

"Yes, you certainly ought to," Strauss said, dryly.

"Reid and Prentiss are of the same grade and likely to remain so for quite some time. There's no danger of improper influence."

"But there is a danger of emotional conflicts. How can I expect two agents to work effectively in dangerous situations when they're worried about their spouse's safety?"

"I might point out that they've been working together for the past year while being involved, with no negative impact on their work that I've been able to observe," Hotch said. "Reid is completely focused on his job, and Prentiss is one of the most emotionally controlled agents I've ever met. I have complete faith in their ability to perform their jobs, married or not. If that were to be compromised, not only would I insist on a transfer, I believe they'd insist on it themselves."

Strauss was eyeing him in a way that gave him hope, like she was considering the specifics, which meant she might yield the general question. "Rossi? Your opinion?"

"I think they should be allowed to continue to work on the team."

Strauss considered this. She pointed a stern finger at Hotch. "I want your agents to maintain professionalism at all times. They're not to make general announcements about their wedding or discuss it with other agents or other departments. If the team is affected, and I mean by the smallest degree, I will pull one of them and cite your lack of control as the reason."

Hotch nodded. "Understood. You can count on their discretion." He and Rossi got up to leave.

"Oh, and Agent Hotchner?"

"Yes?"

She drew herself up and put on a polite smile. "Please give Agent Prentiss and Dr. Reid my warmest congratulations."

Hotch nodded. "I'm sure they'll appreciate it." He and Rossi left the office.

They had to wait for the elevator. "I'm amazed that worked," Rossi muttered.

"I'm not too surprised. She's practical at heart."

"Reid and Emily are going to be thrilled."

Hotch smiled. "No less thrilled than the rest of us."

They were quiet for a moment. "Do you think it's weird?" Rossi asked. "The two of them, I mean."

"The Director certainly seemed thrown by it."

"Weren't you at first?"

Hotch considered this. "Yes. I suppose I was. But now…" He shrugged. "It's not weird to me anymore. They just – fit."

Rossi nodded. "I was surprised at first, too. But now mostly I'm just…"

"Jealous," Hotch finished.

"Yeah," Rossi said, chuckling. "A little. You'd think after three ex-wives I wouldn't still have hope."

"You're the eternal optimist, Dave."

The elevator doors open. "But now we get to tell them the good news, and in a few months we get to watch them get married. If that's not reason for hope, I don't know what is."

* * *

_BAU Jet  
present day_

__

* * *

_  
_

 

"So they're sure that it's this Kurt Harmon that Elle was seeing?" Hotch said, looking at a printout of Harmon's employment records from McKinniss Securities.

"They're pretty sure," JJ said. "They've got corroboration from two of Elle's personal friends, one of whom saw Harmon's car outside her house. Garcia says that he set up her home computer system." JJ sobered. "There's something else, something a little disturbing. Garcia discovered that Nathan Harris also works at McKinniss."

They all looked at her. "Not Nathan Harris, the one we know," Morgan said. "The kid who came to Reid about his homicidal urges?"

She nodded. "Same one. So far there's nothing to connect him to Elle, she never spoke to him or knew he was there, no reason to think he knew her – it might be nothing."

Silence fell. "Funeral's tomorrow afternoon?" Morgan finally said.

Hotch nodded. "This offender isn't the kind we'd normally expect to attend, but if Kurt Harmon was a personal friend and he is the killer, he might go anyway. His behavior may provide some clues."

"A cold-blooded execution like this, I don't know," Morgan said, looking at a crime-scene photo. "If he's the killer, he's got icewater in his veins. You have to be pretty frosty to be able to murder a woman like this, a woman you were involved with and presumably cared about."

"If he's that disconnected from his feelings he could be a sociopath," Hotch said.

"We're getting ahead of ourselves." Rossi spoke for the first time since they'd taken off. "This Harmon might not even be our guy. Just because he and Elle were involved doesn't mean he killed her. What's the motive?"

"Reid and Prentiss are talking to him now. They ought to be able to get an impression of him, enough to either support or contradict the working theory. It's useless to speculate before we know what they find out."

* * *

Still thinking of avoiding contact with Nathan Harris, Emily phoned ahead to McKinniss and had Kurt Harmon meet them in the HR office for his interview. It'd be better to interview him on neutral turf, anyway. He agreed readily enough. He sounded friendly and self-assured.

When they arrived, Harmon was waiting in a small conference room. He stood up to greet them, and Emily wondered if Reid's profiling subroutine was cataloging the same things hers was.

Harmon was in his mid-thirties and tall, about Reid's height, and very good looking. He had sharp, strong features, intensely blue eyes and wavy blond hair. He was fit but not overly buff. He wore well-pressed flat-front black slacks and a very crisp blue-and-white striped button-down, open at the collar. No tie.

It was the "trust me" uniform. A tie would have implied authority, which might put some people off. If he were to dress more casually, it wouldn't inspire confidence. This was the clothing of a man who wanted to put people at ease but also make them want to defer to him. His meticulous grooming was apparent. His nails were manicured, he was tanned, and his hair was recently cut. That usually revealed a man who enjoyed being in control of himself, and perhaps of others.

These thoughts passed through her mind in the time it took Harmon to rise from the table. "Mr. Harmon?" Reid said.

"Yes, I'm Kurt Harmon," he replied. A smooth baritone voice, confident but not loud.

"I'm Agent Reid, this is Agent Prentiss." Harmon shook both of their hands, but there was a discrepancy between his greetings. He held Reid's eyes for several beats, gripped and shook. He shook Emily's hand, but made only brief eye contact before looking back to Reid.

"Please, sit down," Harmon said, motioning to the table.

_He's inviting US to sit down. Establishing himself as the host of this meeting._

Without replying or acknowledging the invitation, they both took chairs and simultaneously opened up files and notebooks, taking up pens and keeping their eyes focused on the paperwork. They'd done this so many times it was second nature. Harmon hesitated, then finally took his own chair. Emily hoped he'd gotten the message that they were in charge, not him.

Emily began making notes, just a few scribbles about what she'd already observed. Reid ran his finger down something from the file, like he was checking his facts. Since entering the room, she knew they'd both concluded that Reid should lead the questioning. It didn't have to be discussed.

"Agent Reid," Harmon said, just repeating the name. "I think Elle mentioned you. You're the genius, right?"

"To use an imprecise term for a level of intelligence that may be fundamentally unquantifiable," Reid rattled off. Emily glanced at him. He only talked like that when he was testing someone.

"Many things in life are unquantifiable," Harmon replied smoothly. "And yet we insist on imposing artificial measures on them, as if that'll make them easier to understand."

Reid didn't react. "Mr. Harmon…" He began.

"Kurt, please." That "trust me" smile again.

Reid just looked at him. "Mr. Harmon, I'm sure you know why we're here."

He nodded, sighing. "Yes."

"We're investigating Elle's death."

"How is this your jurisdiction?" Harmon asked, his tone still friendly.

Reid folded his hands on the table. "She was a former federal agent, and worked on the same team that Agent Prentiss and I are members of. The Dallas police were very sympathetic to our desire to investigate her murder."

"I see. Well, I'll do anything I can to help."

"How long had you been seeing Elle socially?"

Emily watched as Kurt Harmon decided whether to lie. It passed over his face in a fraction of a second. "I met her four months ago when she began her evaluation here," he said, apparently having concluded that the truth was his best bet. "We hit it off," he said, playing it casual with a hint of modesty to his tone. "She wouldn't pursue a relationship with me until her job here was complete. We began seeing each other shortly after she delivered her final report." Harmon met Reid's eyes. "I was really hoping to meet Agent Gideon," he said. "She talked about him."

"Agent Gideon is no longer with the Bureau."

"Oh. She didn't mention that."

"She may not have known." Reid stopped talking, his hands folded over the file before him, watching Harmon with a placid expression. Harmon waited for another question that didn't come. Most people would have gotten fidgety after only a few moments, but Harmon sat calmly, one knee crossed over the other, holding Reid's gaze like they were having a staring contest.

_That's my cue._

"Mr. Harmon, could you describe your relationship with Elle?" she asked.

Harmon's eyes cut over to her, then shifted to his own trouser leg, where he picked off invisible lint. "We saw each other for about three months."

"Was it serious?"

His mouth quivered a little. "I thought it was getting to be," he said, quietly.

"One of her friends told us that she thought you'd broken up a few weeks ago."

He nodded. "She broke up with me without any explanation. I tried to talk to her, but she wouldn't return my calls. I wish I knew what I did to make her do that." He sounded sincerely upset. He looked Emily full in the face for the first time. "I loved her. I never told her that. I'm going to have to live with that forever, that she never knew how I felt." He swung his gaze over to Reid. "Do you have anything? Any leads on who might have done this?"

"I can't discuss an ongoing investigation, Mr. Harmon."

He nodded. "I suppose not."

"Did you help Elle with her home computer system?"

Harmon nodded, still seeming a bit shellshocked. "She just had a rinky-dink laptop before. For the amount of data she collected, she needed a more sophisticated system." He was growing more comfortable talking about his area of expertise. "I set it up for her."

"What kind of external hard drive did she have?"

Harmon frowned. "I didn't set her up with one. The CPU I built her had more than enough memory, and it was backed up onto an off-site server. She wouldn't have needed an external."

"Mr. Harmon, where were you between eight pm and four a.m. the night Elle died?"

He sagged in his chair a little. "That night…let's see. I was at a Rotary Club meeting. I got home around eleven. After that, I was just home. Alone. My alarm company can tell you when I deactivated and reactivated the system. I logged into my server."

Reid nodded. "We'll get those details sorted. Can you think of anyone who would have wanted to hurt Elle?"

"No!" Harmon exclaimed, his voice breaking a little now. Emily put on her sympathy-face and leaned forward, placing her hands on the table. As if she'd commanded him telepathically, Harmon immediately bent in her direction and gazed at her with tear-filled eyes. "Nobody would want to hurt her. She had friends, she was good at her job."

"But her reports must have gotten some people fired, or at least watched carefully."

"No, her contract with her clients included a clause that her findings were not grounds for termination. She was pretty adamant about that."

"Could she have been seeing someone else?" Emily asked. "After she stopped seeing you, I mean?"

Harmon blinked, his wet eyes going wide. "You think – that's why she left me? There was somebody new?"

"We don't know of any such person," she said, infusing her tone with understanding. "But if she was seeing someone at the time of her death, we'd like to talk to him."

Harmon shook his head and sniffled. "I don't know. I hadn't seen her or talked to her since she left me."

Emily nodded. "I'm sorry to bring it up."

"No, it's okay. You're just doing your job," he said with a big sigh.

Reid closed his notebook. "I think that's all the questions we have for now, Mr. Harmon. I assume you'll be available if we need more information?"

He nodded. "Sure, sure."

They all stood up. "Thank you for your time," Emily said.

Harmon shook both of their hands again, this time lingering over Emily, clasping her hand in both of his. They turned to the door, Reid shooting her a knowing glance as their eyes met briefly.

"Interesting," he said as they walked to the car.

"Yeah," she said. Interesting was right.

* * *

When they got back to the station, the rest of the team had arrived and were being shown the case evidence by Garcia and Bullock. They didn't waste time on greetings. "What'd you find out from Harmon?" Hotch asked.

Reid looked at Emily. She gave him the 'go ahead' shrug, so he went ahead. "He was wearing the 'trust me' clothes. Casual but impeccable, confident but nonthreatening. He automatically considered me to be the authority, which is weird because between me and Prentiss, in an official situation people usually assume it's Prentiss."

"It's the sweaters," Morgan said, grinning.

"I'm saying it's revealing that between me looking like…well, me, and a smartly dressed, confident woman visibly older, he'd go for me as the authority. It tells me that gender overrode any other signifiers of status. His narcicissm has a strong undercurrent of misogyny, which isn't unusual." JJ and Garcia had turned to each other with 'oh no he didn't' looks on their faces. "What?" He turned to find Emily looking at him, one eyebrow damn near in her hairline.

" _Visibly older?_ " she repeated.

"Uh oh," Bullock said, under his breath. "You in big trouble now, Stretch."

"Did you not hear the 'smartly dressed and confident' part?" Reid said to Emily.

She shook her head, her expression half annoyed and half amused. "We'll discuss it later," she said. "He's right, though. Harmon deferred to Reid. The only time he looked me in the face or addressed himself to me was when he was hoping to manipulate my emotions, when he would talk about how he'd loved Elle and how upset he was. He assumed that I'd be more vulnerable to his displays of feeling. I put on some sympathetic body language and he jumped at it."

Morgan nodded. "Hoping to get you on his side."

Reid continued. "He said he had met Elle four months ago, they started dating after her job with McKinniss was complete one month later. Then she broke up with him two weeks ago without explanation. He said 'I wish I knew what I did to make her do that.'"

Rossi looked at Hotch. "That's an atypical response for a male of his type. Usually they'd blame the woman or downplay their feelings about her to avoid appearing vulnerable."

"And what he said about Elle not giving him an explanation was a lie. She gave him one, he just didn't want to tell us," Reid added.

"How do you know?" Bullock asked.

"Because if she hadn't, he would have wanted one. He'd have asked for it. And his phone records indicate he hasn't called her once since the day they broke up."

"Also, when we suggested she might have been seeing someone else, his reaction was all wrong," Emily said. "He just asked if we thought that was why she dumped him, but there was no indignation, no anger, no indication that this was something he'd considered, because he knew that wasn't the reason. She gave him the reason. We just don't know what it was."

Hotch was nodding. "Good work, you two. We'll keep digging into Harmon's background. Detective Bullock is going to take over some of the interviewing at McKinniss tomorrow with JJ and Morgan. I want you two to stick with Harmon." Bullock, JJ and Morgan moved off to a corner of the conference room, taking the McKinniss files with them. Garcia was back at the computer.

Reid nodded. "Hotch – there's another issue." Rossi stepped closer as Reid dropped his voice.

Hotch sighed. "Reid, we have no reason to think Nathan Harris has anything to do with anything. It might really just be a coincidence."

"I don't think so. I don't have anything concrete – just a hunch. I don't want to drop it."

Hotch and Rossi exchanged a glance. "All right. But Harmon's the priority. We need something to indicate that he actually did this. So far all we have are impressions that he's a garden-variety alpha male and that Elle didn't want to date him anymore. That's not exactly convincing."

"I want to start a geographical profile for Harmon and Nathan Harris. They're already connected, they knew each other before Nathan moved here. I'll be interested to see where it intersects with the one I have going for Elle."

"All right, work on that. Prentiss, we're going to start a profile for Harmon. Get employee records, evaluations, interview transcripts, anything you can get your hands on. We need a motive."

She nodded. "I'll get what we already have together and tell Garcia what we need." She walked away to the stack of file boxes.

Hotch met Reid's eyes. "Listen, I know how you feel about Nathan Harris…"

"No, I don't think you do," he said, cutting him off. "Anyone he's harmed is on my head, Hotch."

"You can't be blamed for saving someone's life."

"Someone I knew to be dangerous?"

"You didn't know that, no one did. You can't judge someone for crimes they have not yet committed."

"Yeah, I saw 'Minority Report.'" He sighed. "I get what you're saying, I just have a hunch."

"Well, your hunches are better than most people's evidence, so I won't discount it. But don't assume anything or jump to conclusions." Reid nodded and started to walk off to the maps. "Reid?"

"What?"

Hotch lowered his voice a little and cocked an eyebrow. "You're going to pay for that 'visibly older' remark, you know."

Reid sighed. "I know." He shook his head. "Is it weird to be a little scared of your own wife?"

The barest hint of a smile touched Hotch's lips. "Welcome to marriage."


	16. Chapter 16

_Dallas, TX  
present day_

__

* * *

_  
_

 

Emily's phone rang at nine thirty. Reid reached across the bed and picked it up; the screen read "Mom." He sighed and answered it. "Hello."

A slight pause. "Oh. Spencer."

"Hello, Elizabeth." Reid's relationship with Emily's mother was best described as "cordial." Ambassador Prentiss was too diplomatic to be anything but polite to him, and a few times she'd demonstrated some fondness, but he knew she regarded him as something of a departure from what she'd expected in a son-in-law. She'd never quite forgiven him for eloping with Emily in Las Vegas, even though it had been Emily's idea, and the fact that he had not yet gotten her daughter pregnant was a never-spoken but always-present strike against him. "What can I do for you?"

"Where's Emily?"

"She's gone down to the hotel gym. She'll be back soon."

"Of course. You don't exercise, do you?"

"Not if I can avoid it. Can I give her a message?"

"Are you on the road?"

"We're in Dallas."

"I hope you'll be back in time for dinner on Sunday."

Reid nearly slapped his own forehead. They were supposed to have dinner at Elizabeth's house with Emily's aunt and uncle, visiting from London. "We'll try, but I'm afraid it's out of our hands. We'll be home when our case has been resolved."

"Of course," she said. "I just hope you'll both be there."

"We'll do our best."

"Tell Emily I called. No need for her to call back."

"I'll tell her." He waited. Elizabeth wasn't hanging up, but neither was she speaking. "Well – goodnight, then."

"Wait, Spencer."

"Yes?"

"You are careful, aren't you? When you work these cases?" she asked, sounding almost surprised to hear herself asking.

"Emily's very careful. She's always…"

"No. I meant you. Are  _you_  careful?"

Reid blinked, stunned into momentary silence. "Well – yes, I'm careful. We all are."

"Good."

"Elizabeth, what's this…"

"If anything ever happened to you, it would kill her." Her tone was flat and declarative. "I'd never want that kind of pain for her." Her voice now trembled slightly. It had been not so long ago that Elizabeth had lost her own husband.

"I understand," was all he could say.

She laughed a little, a nervous titter. "My assistant tells me I need to express myself more. She also says I need to accept you as part of the family."

He wished he could say what he felt.  _I don't need your acceptance. I have Emily's, and that's all I care about._  Nor was it comfortable for him to know that he'd been the subject of conversation between Elizabeth and her assistant. But the woman was trying, and he knew it would please Emily if he and her mother could be more than just civil. "That's – very nice of you."

"I'm sorry if I've ever made you feel unwelcome."

"Not at all."

He heard her chuckle. "With your noncommittal answers, you'd make a fair diplomat, Spencer."

He smiled. "It's a skill I've had to cultivate."

She sighed. "I know you love my daughter."

"Yes. Very much."

"I just want her to be happy."

"So do I."

An awkward pause stretched out, filled with a silent conversation about all the children he and Emily weren't having. "I'll tell her you called," he finally said.

"Thank you. Goodnight." She hung up.

He blew air through his teeth and tossed Emily's cell phone to the bedside table.

He'd just refocused himself on the file he was studying when someone knocked on the door. Grumbling, he got up from the bed and opened it. Morgan was standing there, looking restless. "Let's go get a drink."

"Ehh. No, thanks. I'm in for the night."

"C'mon, kid. We could both use it."

"Emily will be back from the gym soon."

Morgan shook his head. "I've said it before and I'll say it again. Whipped."

Reid gave him a Look. "Derek, try to understand this. In just a few minutes my wife, who as you may have noticed is ridiculously attractive, is going to come bouncing back here all energized and sweaty, in tight workout clothes. Can you possibly imagine why I might rather be here for that instead of downstairs in the bar with  _you?_ "

Morgan considered this, then gave a curt nod. "You have a good night, then."

"Thanks." He started shutting the door, but then he heard Emily's voice coming down the hall.

"Morgan, I knocked on your door to come work out with me! You missed out!"

"Aww, I sure did miss out! Damn, check out those guns!" he heard Morgan say, his voice dwindling as he headed to the elevators.

"Hey!" Reid called down the hall, poking his head out the door. "Eyes to yourself!"

Morgan turned back and waggled his fingers at him. Emily was smiling as she came in the door, which he was still holding open. "Hey, gorgeous ," she said. She was always in a good mood after a workout. She planted a smacking kiss on his mouth and stripped the iPod off her bicep. "Morgan want you to go for drinks?"

"He did. I told him I couldn't."

"Did you tell him that you couldn't because seeing me all disheveled after a workout turns you on?"

"I think he got the idea."

She slipped her arms around his waist, sliding one hand south to his ass. "I don't know why you like it so much. It's when I'm at my least attractive."

He looked down at her with a wry smile. "I'll be the judge of that."

"You could have gone with Morgan for a drink or two. With what's happened, maybe you should talk about it with him."

"Your mother called," he said, eager to change the subject. He didn't particularly want to reminisce about Elle with Morgan, and he didn't want to psychoanalyze his reasons for that with Emily just now.

"Oh yeah?"

"Wanted to remind us about dinner on Sunday with your aunt and uncle."

Emily groaned. "How could I forget? Mom's been reminding me for weeks. Keeps talking about how Aunt Esther and Uncle Howard are just so anxious to meet 'Emily's young man,'" she said, putting on a high-pitched, posh voice for the last three words. "As if you don't have a name." She sighed. "I need a shower." Reid made an exaggerated pouty face. She laughed. "Hey, you might like me like this, but I don't." She went into the bathroom, taking her hair down from the ponytail.

Reid followed her in and leaned against the counter, enjoying the view as she took off her workout clothes. "Maybe I should start exercising with you," he said.

She gave him an incredulous look. "Seriously?"

"Why not? I hear it's good for you."

"Yes, it is. So is eating vegetables, but I don't see you rushing to join that craze."

He shrugged. "Maybe I could jog, or something."

"Honey, you can't jog for that long with your bad knee."

"Okay, I could lift weights."

Emily put her hands on her hips. With her standing there in only her bike shorts and bra, he was having trouble focusing. "What are you talking about?"

"What, you're saying you  _wouldn't_  like it if I had big bulging muscles?"

She snorted laughter. "I'm trying to picture you with bulging muscles and it's just not working. All I can get is an image of your head on Morgan's body." He made a face. "Yeah, my sentiments exactly." She stepped closer and ruffled his hair. "Crazy man. You've never paid much attention to that stuff."

"Maybe I should start. I could at least  _try_  to look presentable so you're not embarrassed to be seen with me."

She gaped at him. "Is that what you think? That I'm  _embarrassed?_ "

"You always look so perfect, and…"

"Spencer! You're being ridiculous!" She shook her head. "You have no idea, do you?"

He frowned. "No idea about what?"

"You're a profiler, and you're telling me you've never noticed women looking at you? Because I notice all the time."

"Women look at me?"

"Of course they do, Spencer, you're handsome. Do you not know this?"

"I don't care what other women think. Just you."

She moved to stand right in front of him. "Then you don't have a problem, because I like you just the way you are. I'm not embarrassed to be seen with you, quite the opposite." She took his chin between her finger and thumb and tipped his head down. "You know, sometimes just looking at you gets me going."

Part of him didn't believe her, but the bigger part didn't believe she'd lie to him. "Yeah?" he said, reaching up to pull off his tie.

Emily gave him a a slow, seductive leer. She put her hands on his chest and pushed him slowly backwards, out of the bathroom. "I could jump you right now," she purred. "Too bad I'm visibly older. I might break a hip." She waved at him, smiling sweetly, then shut the bathroom door in his face.

Reid sighed and tilted slowly forward until his head hit the door.  _Well, fuck._

__

* * *

_  
_

 

Emily woke when she heard Spencer muttering in his sleep. She blinked and turned over, shaking off the drowsiness – she knew what was coming. It happened from time to time. He was twitching a little, then the muttering got louder, then he gasped and came awake with a strangled half-cry. "Spencer, it's just a dream," she whispered, putting her hand on his shoulder. "It's okay."

It took him a second to realize where he was. "Shit," he murmured.

Emily smoothed his damp hair back from his face. "Hankel?"

He nodded. "Am I ever going to stop having this damn nightmare?" he said, his voice hoarse.

"I don't know, baby," she whispered, stroking her hand across his forehead in a steady, soothing motion. He'd turned his head toward her, his eyes closed as his body gradually relaxed under her touch. "It's no wonder, with Elle's death, and now Nathan Harris. It's only normal you'd dream of unsettling things."

"S'not right you get woken up, too."

"That's okay."

He opened his eyes. They looked huge and liquid in the dimness. "It always feels so real," he said. He held her eyes for a moment, then let her pull him into her arms, tucking his head beneath her chin. She held him, the fingers of one hand combing through his hair, keeping up that slow, steady rhythm. He sighed. "I should be over this. It's five years ago."

"There's no 'should be' here. There isn't a timetable for how long it's supposed to take."

They were quiet for a long time. When he had these nightmares – sometimes about Hankel, sometimes about an amalgam of other horrors – it was like he needed the reassurance that he wasn't facing them alone anymore. Emily just held him, feeling the tension leach out of him as the minutes ticked by, her fingers moving through his hair. His hand was making tiny stroking motions against her stomach, like he was reaffirming her reality. They took turns doing this for each other. She had her share of nightmares too, she suspected that everyone on the team had them. You couldn't do what they did and see what they saw without it leaking out into your dreams. She'd woken him in tears a couple of times; once she'd shouted them both out of a deep sleep. It was such a relief not to have to explain it to him, he knew what it was like. At those times, he was the one holding her and chasing the demons away.

"Sometimes I think about those days, when you were in that cabin," she finally said, barely speaking above a whisper.

"You do?"

"Mmm hmm. I didn't know you that well at the time. I was worried, I was upset, of course. But I could see from watching the others that I wasn't feeling what they were feeling. They were so angry, so scared that they'd lose you." She hesitated, wondering if she could share these secret thoughts with him. "Seeing you on those monitors, watching him beat you – it was bad then, but when I think about it now, it's worse. I see what happened then, but in the memory I feel what I'd feel now. Then it's like I can't breathe, I can't even move."

"Try not to think about it. That's what I do."

"I can't help it. I think about watching you being hurt on those monitors, seeing him pull that trigger again and again, wondering if this time the bullet will be there…" She was getting emotional, and she couldn't seem to stop herself.

"Emily," he said, scooting up so his face was next to hers on the pillow. He reached up and brushed a tear off her cheek with his thumb. "It's okay."

She took a deep breath and got herself under control.  _Where did that come from?_  "I'm sorry, I'm supposed to be the one comforting you."

"No one's keeping score," he said.

Her eyes wandered over his face. She wouldn't tell him that sometimes her own nightmares weren't about their cases, or the death that filled their days. Sometimes in her nightmares, he died on those monitors while she watched, helpless. "Well, I'm wide awake now," she murmured.

"Me too." He slipped his hand over her waist, running it over the curve of her hip. "We could just talk."

"Okay." She yawned.

Reid smiled. "Or we could go back to sleep."

"No, I wanna talk."

He looked down. "Em…if you want to talk serious, that's okay."

"What do you mean?" she asked, even though she knew exactly what he meant.

He met her eyes again, looking a little apprehensive. "I know you've been thinking about it. How could you avoid it? All this about Elle wanting to have a baby, looking into sperm donors…" He shrugged a little. "I just don't want you to be upset."

"I'm not upset. What you don't want is for me to think about it."

"That's not true."

"Well, you're right, it's been on my mind. But we shouldn't talk about it now."

"Why not?"

"Because the last time we talked about it, it wasn't so good, and I'm just not up for that." He opened his mouth to speak but she stopped him. "And if you say something about how I must be sorry I married you, again, I am kicking you out of this bed. I don't want to hear about your guilt. We made a decision."

" _I_  made the decision, you had to live with it," he said, sounding bitter at himself.

"No, I  _chose_  to live with it. Don't take away my agency in this because guilt is an easy out. You were honest with me, even though you knew it wasn't what I wanted to hear, and I can always count on you for that. It was up to me to take it or leave it." She put her hand on his face, this face that sometimes felt like it was her anchor to the world. "I won't tell you it's easy. You know better. I think about it. I still have hope, I can't help it." She took a breath, feeling tears prickling her eyes again. "But I can't imagine my life without you, Spencer. I didn't know when I met you that you were the one I'd been waiting for, but you are." He blinked, looking a little stunned by that sentiment. "So I chose you. I chose you over the children you didn't want to give me, to give us. I've never regretted it. That doesn't mean I don't have other regrets."

He was looking at her like he'd never seen her before. "Sometimes I'm in awe of you," he said.

"Don't be. I'm a closed-off workaholic who worries too much about other people's emotions so she can avoid dealing with her own."

"Whatever you are – I can't imagine my life without you, either." He slid closer and kissed her. She kissed him back, her arms slipping around him. The embrace grew more heated bit by bit, until Emily remembered something else she'd meant to say. "Oh, Spencer – wait a minute."

He pulled back. "What?" he said, sounding a little impatient.

"Sorry I kicked you out of the bathroom earlier."

"Oh. Well, I'm the one who made the bonehead 'visibly older' comment."

"It shouldn't bother me. It's true, after all. I never used to be sensitive about my age. Not until I married a sexy younger man."

"Of the people in this bed, you are the sexy one," he murmured, returning his mouth to her neck and shoulders. "As for kicking me out of the bathroom, well, you're making up for it now." He pulled away again. "Unless you want to go back to sleep. It is pretty late."

She shook her head. "No, what I want right now is to have a whole bunch of sex with you,  _then_  go back to sleep."

He grinned. "Yes, ma'am."

"Ooh, I love it when you get formal."

"I hope my performance will be to your satisfaction, ma'am."

"God, you're getting me hot. Now call me 'Agent Prentiss.'"


	17. Chapter 17

_Las Vegas, Nevada  
one year ago_

__

* * *

 

It was weird to be in the passenger seat, but it made sense for Reid to drive while they were in Las Vegas, since he knew his way around. Emily's fingers drummed nervously on the console. He reached over and grasped her hand, stilling them. "Relax."

"I can't help it, I'm nervous."

"She's going to love you."

"What if she doesn't? Mothers are often threatened by the women their sons want to marry, especially when they're as close to them as she is to you."

"Stop being a profiler for a moment."

"That isn't profiling, it's common sense!" She sighed. She didn't want to say aloud what she really feared: that Diana would hate her, that she'd say awful things to Spencer, that she'd force some kind of a choice on him, and over the years she would wear him down.

She should have known she couldn't keep such thoughts from him, even if they remained unvoiced. He pulled into the parking lot at Bennington and shut off the engine, then turned to face her. "Emily, I'll always love her and take care of her. But…hey, look at me," he said, reaching out to turn her face toward him. "She's my mother. She'll always be my mother. But you're going to be my wife. That means you come first now, okay?"

She smiled, a little reassured. "Okay."

They walked into the building and were bid to wait for Diana's doctor. "Anyway," he said, "I've been preparing her for this for months in my letters. It'll be fine. She's not irrational, you know. She's on medication, she's usually lucid."

"I know. I just hope we don't both end up with mother-in-law issues."

He squeezed her hand. "Your mother is very fond of me, in her own special way that looks a lot like barely tolerating me."

"Dr. Reid! How good to see you," said Diana's doctor, coming forward with a big smile to shake Reid's hand. "Your mother's so excited, she's been talking about this visit all week to anyone who'll sit still long enough."

"That's good to hear," Reid said. "Dr. Norman, this is Emily Prentiss, my fiancee."

"Nice to meet you," Dr. Norman said, shaking her hand. "Diana's been talking about you, too. Says she's going to meet Spencer's young lady."

Emily felt marginally cheered by this. "See?" Reid murmured, elbowing her. "Come on, let's go."

"She's on the porch," Dr. Norman said.

Reid nodded, and they walked through the facility to a door that led onto a wide lawn. Off to the side was a shaded sun porch. Emily saw Diana sitting on a wicker sofa, writing in her journal. "There she is," she said.

Reid took her hand and they walked together to the porch, stopping to stand before her. Emily felt absurdly like a peasant at the feet of the castle lord, begging for clemency.

Diana looked up, a moment of puzzlement and irritation at the interruption crossing her face, but then she saw who it was and her expression smoothed into a delighted smile. "Spencer!" she said. Emily was immediately struck by the resemblance, the sharp features, the generous mouth and deep-set eyes.

Reid smiled. "Hi, Mom," he said.

Diana shook her head. "You're so thin," she said with a sigh of resignation, as if she'd given up hope of him ever being anything else.

"Mom," Reid said, puffing up a little bit. "I'd like you to meet…"

Diana didn't even let him finish. "Emily. You must be Emily."

"Yes," Emily said, smiling. "It's so good to finally meet you, Mrs. Reid."

She flapped her hand. "No, no. Call me Diana." She stood up, and Emily saw right away where Reid got his height. "Now. Let me look at you." She approached Emily and put her hands lightly on her shoulders. She cocked her head this way and that. "You're very beautiful," she said, her tone neutral, as if she'd just told Emily that her dress was blue.

"I told you she was," Reid said.

Diana nodded, as if something had been decided. "Come sit with me," she said, motioning for Emily to join her on the couch. "You sit there, Spencer," she said, pointing to a chair off to her right. "Emily and I are going to talk, now." He put his hands up in surrender and dutifully sat where he was bidden. Emily took a seat on the couch next to Diana. "So," Diana said, settling back into her place, her hands folded in her lap. "You're planning to marry my son."

Emily nodded. "Yes, I am."

"In that case, you and I have some things to talk about."

A sliver of nervousness slid back into Emily's stomach, just as she'd been beginning to relax. She glanced at Reid, who frowned a little. He didn't know, either. "We do?"

"Yes." Diana put one hand on Emily's forearm and leaned a little closer. "First of all – and this is important – he's allergic to shellfish."

It took Emily a great deal of effort not to laugh, mostly out of relief. "Yes, I know," she said.

"Good, because he forgets."

"I had to snatch a shrimp out of his hand once."

"He gets migraines sometimes."

"Not so much anymore. They've gotten better."

"Oh, I'm glad to hear that. Now, one last thing." Diana fixed her with a stern gaze. "Do not, under any circumstances, let him try to fix anything. All that brilliance doesn't translate well to home repair."

Emily did laugh then, thinking of the disaster that had followed when Spencer had taken it into his head to fix her iPod after it accidentally went through the laundry. Six hours, two trips to the computer-parts store and three almost-fights later, she had gone out and bought a new one without telling him. He'd pouted for a full day. "I'll keep that in mind."

Diana smiled. "Well, all right then. Seems like you're on top of things." She patted Emily's arm and looked over at Reid.

He was blank-faced. "That's it? Shrimp, migraines and home repair?"

Diana gave him a  _look._  A Mom look. "Spencer, this is an intelligent woman. Are you suggesting she doesn't already know the things about you that really matter?"

Reid withered a little. "No – she sure does."

Diana rubbed her upper arms and shivered a little. "Could you run up to my room and get my sweater, Spencer? I'm a bit chilly."

"It's eighty degrees out, Mom."

She sighed. "All right, then, please go away for a few minutes so I can talk to Emily alone."

He got up, his cheeks going red. "I'll just go – check in with Hotch."

"We're on vacation," Emily said.

"Well, you never know," he said, making a vague hand gesture as he walked away.

Emily turned back to Diana, who was watching her with the same intensity that Reid sometimes got. "You were nervous about coming here, weren't you?" Diana asked.

She already knew that she'd have no better luck lying to this woman than she did lying to her son. "A little, yes."

"I would be too, if my fiance's mother was in a place like this," Diana said, looking around. "I'm glad you came anyway."

"I wanted to. You're so important to him, and that means you're important to me, too."

Diana's expression seemed fragile, like it would crack any moment and reveal what the meds helped keep hidden. "He's all I have, you know," she said, her voice going whispery. "All I live for."

On impulse, Emily took Diana's hand. It turned in hers and gripped back. "I know. No one could ever take your place," she said, hoping that wasn't the direction this was going.

Diana sighed, looking away. "It's hard to be a mother to someone so – special," she said. "I was always afraid that no one would ever love him the way he deserves, that no one would appreciate him." She trailed off.

Emily knew the rest, what Diana wasn't saying. "But, at the same time, you were afraid someone would," she finished for her. "And take him away."

Diana looked around sharply, meeting her eyes. "Yes. Yes, exactly. How can a person hope for something, but fear it?"

Emily thought for a moment. "I think that's all anyone ever does."

Diana smiled slowly. "You're a wise person, I think." The knowing expression was back in her eyes, the fragile mother gone for the moment. "You are older than him."

"Ten years."

She nodded. "Older women have always liked him. They were able to see what sometimes his peers couldn't." She patted Emily's hand. "Emily. Such a nice name. Classic. You know, I've sometimes thought I would have liked to have had a daughter. Spencer's father wanted more children, but it was clear so early that Spencer was special. He needed all my attention." She smiled, a touch of the conspirator about it. "What does your mother think of him?"

"Oh, she's – adjusting," Emily said, smiling. "She's glad that I'm happy. She likes him."

"But he's not what she had in mind for you. You come from money, don't you?"

"Some."

"We don't. Words, those were our riches. I can see the money doesn't matter to you."

"No, not at all." Emily looked down at her hand, still holding Diana's. Long, elegant fingers like Spencer's. "Diana…I want you to know something," she began, but then couldn't think how to finish. Not out loud, anyway.  _I want you to know how much I love your son. I want you to feel okay letting him go, knowing that I'll take care of him, and he'll take care of me, and both of us will take care of you because you'll be my mother, too. I would never come between you, because how he looks after you is one of the things I love about him. I want you to know that he's safe with me._

She felt her hand squeezed and looked up into Diana's knowing eyes. "You don't have to tell me."

"I thought you'd want to hear it."

"I don't need to. I knew the minute I looked up and saw you standing there next to him." Her lips twisted a little, like she was tasting her words before she let them loose. "May I…" She cleared her throat and shifted a little. "I think I'd like to hug you."

Her shyness reminded Emily so painfully of Reid, asking if he could hold her after their first time to bed together and on a million other occasions. "I'd like that," she said. She reached out and embraced her future mother-in-law. She felt Diana's arms come around her, hesitant at first, but then hugging her back.

She opened her eyes and saw Reid over Diana's shoulder, standing in the doorway watching them. The expression on his face nearly broke her heart, as if he were seeing something come to pass that he hadn't dared let himself hope for.

She gave him a little nod.  _It's okay. Everything's okay._

He approached them as Emily pulled away. Diana beamed up at him. "Spencer, there you are. Where'd you run off to?"

"Just had to make a phone call, Mom," he said, touching her shoulder and taking his seat.

"I like her, this bride you've chosen," she said, sounding very certain about that.

He smiled. "I'm glad."

Diana turned back to Emily. "May I see the ring my son gave you?"

"Of course," Emily said, holding out her left hand.

Diana brought Emily's hand closer so she could see. "Moonstone. The lover's stone. It's said to bring good luck. Did he give this to you under a full moon?"

Emily frowned at him. "I don't remember. Did you?"

Reid looked a little embarrassed. "Yes."

Diana nodded. "If you give moonstone jewelry to your love under the full moon, then your passion will be neverending. That's what the New Age types say, anyway. It's also the favored stone of the goddess Diana." She looked up at Emily again. "So you had my blessing before you even met me."

Emily held up the ring. "Did you propose during a full moon on purpose?" she asked Reid.

"I wanted all the help I could get," he said, sheepishly.

"Now, Spencer," Diana said, moving on to other things. "I am coming to your wedding, correct?"

He nodded. "We hoped you would. I've spoken to Dr. Norman about your spending a few days with us. You would have to fly, though. I'll come here and get you and we'll fly back to DC together."

"Oh," she said, her head shaking. "I don't know, I don't know. You know I hate to fly." She pressed her fist to her mouth, shut her eyes and seemed to marshal her internal forces. "But I will. I'll do it. I have to be there. And I want to see your home. The pictures you send make it look so inspiring, so creative. It must be easy to think great thoughts there."

"You'll stay there with us," Emily said. "We have a room all set up for you."

Diana smiled at her. "That's kind of you," she said. "I don't want to impose."

"You couldn't impose, Mom. It'll be an honor to…to have you in our house," he said, sounding a little choked up. Emily looked at him; his hands were laced together between his knees and his jaw was working. The things that other people took for granted about their parents were occasions of emotional import for him. Having his mother visit his home, having her meet his fiancee. The normality he'd been denied his whole life made extraordinary those few moments when he and Diana could share something ordinary.

"It'll be good for me," Diana said, sounding determined. "Good practice. I'll want to come again to see my grandchildren, won't I? Until they're old enough to come here."

A cold splash of harsh reality doused the pleasant crackle of good feelings Emily had going. She risked a glance at Reid's eyes only to find him looking determinedly away, his eyes fixed on some point on the ground, his body language stiff and forced.

Diana didn't seem to notice.

* * *

They drove back to the hotel in silence. More silence as they walked to their room, entered and shut the door behind them. Emily headed right for the bed and sat down. Reid only made it a few steps in before he was pacing, one hand rising to restlessly comb through his hair.

She waited. It was time. Time to talk about the thing they'd been avoiding since – well, since ever. She couldn't believe they'd let it go this long, that _she'd_  let it go this long.

_You put if off because you were afraid of what he'd say. Because you already know what he's going to say, and then you'll have to make a choice._

"Spencer." He kept pacing. "Say something."

"What do you want me to say?"

"I want you to be honest with me."

"I always am."

"Why haven't we talked about this?"  _Stop doing that. You always distance yourself by saying 'this' or 'it.' Say it out loud, say the words._  "Why haven't we talked about having children?"

He sat down on the other bed facing her, elbows on knees, staring down at his hands while they did the unconscious finger-origami they did when he was unsettled. "You want to have kids."

She nodded. "Yes. I always have."

He looked up at her now, blank fear and a little despair in his eyes. "Emily, I…" He looked away again. "I can't."

She frowned. He couldn't? Was there a physical issue she was unaware of? "Can't, or won't?"

"I guess – won't. I'm physically capable, as far as I know."

"Good for you. Because I won't be for much longer. I'm already past my best-if-used-by date, you know."

"I can't do it. My genetic history…"

"What? Schizophrenia?"

"It's hereditary."

"You don't have it."

"I could." He looked at her again. "I still could. Which is something else we've never talked about."

"You're the one who always has statistics at the ready, let me take a shot. Three-quarters of schizophrenics develop symptoms by age 25. Onset is rare after thirty and extremely rare after 40. Under age 25, it's more common in men, but late onset is more common in women. The odds that you have it are very low and decreasing by the year."

He smiled wryly. "Nicely done. You've been hanging around me too much. But this must have occurred to you, too, since you took the time to research that."

"Of course I did. Mostly I was worried about you, though."

"Just because I probably don't have it doesn't mean our child couldn't."

"Our child could also have leukemia, or bipolar disorder, or cerebral palsy. I'm over 35, there's a risk of Down's Syndrome. No one ever knows, Spencer. You pays your money and you takes your chances." He was still staring at his hands. "That's not the only reason."

"No," he said, barely audible. "I can't…" He swallowed hard and started again. "I don't know how to be a parent. I wouldn't be a good one."

"What are you talking about? You've been a caretaker your whole life."

"That's different. Keeping my mother from burning the house down is not the same thing as raising a child. I just – I can't be a father."

Anger welled up in Emily for the first time in this conversation. "What does that even mean? No, I'll tell you what it means – it means you're  _afraid_  to be a father."

"Yes!" he exclaimed, his head snapping up. "I'm petrified!"

"Well, join the club of everybody! You think I'm not terrified of being a mother? Everyone's terrified! They do it because they want it more than they are scared of it!" She sagged. "But you don't want it, do you?" That was where the buck stopped. They could work through his fear of schizophrenia, they could work through him being afraid to be a father. But she couldn't talk him into wanting children if he didn't. That had to come from him.

He stood up so fast it was almost a spasm and wandered a few steps away, moving restlessly about the room. "I've thought about this a lot, Emily. I knew you wanted children. I kept waiting for you to bring it up and kidded myself that if you didn't, then it wouldn't matter, but nothing could matter more. I love you so much, and I want to give you everything you ever wanted. I want to make you happy. But this – it's too huge a decision not to be in it together. I can't lie to you about this. I can't pretend to be something I'm not because I want to please you. I don't want to have children. I'm – I'm not that guy. I'm not a man who can be a father." He paused. "I wouldn't blame you if that changes your mind about us. I'd understand." He turned away with his last few words, his voice cracking a little.

Emily felt numb. She didn't know what she felt. It wasn't as if she hadn't known, deep down, but hearing him say it so definitively was an entirely different story. She took a deep breath. "For a long time, I wasn't sure if I wanted children. Well into my twenties. I had a hard time imagining myself as a mother. But then, the more I thought about it, the more I could see it. The more I saw it, the more I wanted it. But it was abstract. I wanted these theoretical, mythical children that I couldn't quite picture. It was a fantasy." She got up and went to him, turning him back toward her and looking up into his face. "But now it's different, because I have you. Now it's not just that I want children – I want  _your_  children, Spencer." His eyes pinched shut and his head sagged on his neck. "It isn't abstract anymore. I can picture them now. I can picture us teaching them to play chess, I can picture them in our house. I can see them with your eyes and my nose, I can imagine them smart like you and stubborn like me." Two slow tears were trickling down his cheeks from beneath his closed eyelids. "I wanted kids, sure. But I never thought that it would be a dealbreaker for me. I thought I could be happy without them, if it came to that. But now it's worse, because I want so badly to see us in them. I want to see  _you_  in them." He had one hand over his eyes, his shoulders shaking. She wanted to comfort him but she had none to give at the moment. She stepped back. "I need to go take a walk," she whispered. "I'll be back."

She turned and walked out of the room, leaving him standing there alone, crying. It was one of the hardest things she'd ever done.


	18. Chapter 18

_Las Vegas, Nevada  
one year ago_

__

* * *

_  
_

 

She ended up in the courtyard of their hotel. She sat down on a stone bench and stared at the cascading water, trying to calm her thoughts.

Right now, this second, if she had to choose between marrying Spencer and never having children, it was no contest. She'd choose him. But that was today. How would she feel in a year? Five years? Ten, when it might be too late for anything but adoption? Now, her decisions were ruled by her love for him, which was still new despite how it felt like they'd been together all their lives, and her excitement to start a life with him. But that exhilaration wouldn't last. Eventually they'd settle into a routine, years would pass and being married to him would feel normal, even boring. Then, would she regret that she was cut off from having the family she'd wanted? Would she come to resent him for it, would it eventually poison what they felt for each other until she lost him, too?

_He might change his mind._

It was possible. But she couldn't hang a decision on the hope that he would. She had to assume that he never would – that way, if he never did, she'd still be happy with the choice she'd made.

She forced herself to face another reality. This wasn't just about deciding whether to marry him or not. If she concluded that she couldn't go through with it because he didn't want children, it was more than just their planned wedding in a month's time that was off. It was all off. They'd have to break up.

A choked half-sob got stuck in her throat and she coughed.  _No more us. No more him. Move out of the house, that house that feels like home already. No more pianist's fingers on my body, no more shy smiles and long talks, no more spur-of-the-moment trips to ride roller coasters, or out to Cape Henlopen to watch the dolphins in the Atlantic, or to Captain Billy's for crab that he can't even eat._

The work thing could become awkward. Not to mention painful. She might end up transferring. She'd be breaking up not only with the man she loved, she'd be breaking up with her job and her co-workers.

Even given all that, the images wouldn't stop coming to her. Getting home late to find him asleep on the couch with their baby on his chest. A gangly toddler swung up on his shoulders, a brown-eyed girl calling her Mommy, a dark-haired boy calling him Daddy. Taking them to school, giving them their first toys, their first books, their first periodic table of the elements. Something ached deep in her guts at each picture of that future that her mind showed her.

_All this? It'll never happen._

Emily's tenuous composure shattered and she broke down in tears, bowing her head into her hands.

She was just wishing she had a tissue or something when she felt a cloth touch her arm. She looked up to find a fortyish woman looking down at her with a "girl, I been there" expression on her face, holding out a napkin. "Here you go, honey," she said with a flat Midwestern accent.

Emily took it and blew her nose. "Thanks," she said, her voice clogged.

The woman sat down next to her. She was plump and touristy. "You okay, there?"

 _I should just say yes, thanks, I'm fine, and move along._  "No," she heard herself say.

"I guess not, if you're out here crying all by yourself. Where's your friends, or your family or whatever?"

She sniffed and wiped her eyes. "My fiance. He's upstairs."

The woman nodded knowingly. "Had a big fight, huh? I tell you, planning a wedding is enough to ruin any relationship."

"Wasn't about that."  _Why am I still talking?_  Emily wasn't one for casual confidences but somehow, the idea of spilling everything to a total stranger was appealing. No baggage, no preconceptions. "He told me he doesn't want to have children."

"Ohhhh," the woman said, nodding in understanding. "Tough break. I guess you wanted some, huh?"

"Yes. Especially with him."

"You're not sitting here thinking you oughta call it off, are you?" The look Emily gave her must have been answer enough. "You love this guy?" Emily nodded, twisting the napkin in her restless fingers. "Nothing in life's perfect, honey. Sometimes you get what you want at the price of something else."

"Never having a family, though?"

The woman shook her head, clucking. "Sweetie, you already got one. You and your guy, you  _are_  a family. Kids just make it bigger. Noisier, too, not to mention more expensive." She patted Emily's shoulder and got up. "You take care, now." She walked off back into the casino.

Emily stared after her, all her thoughts sliced neatly off as if by guillotine.

* * *

She'd forgotten her key, so she had to knock.

Spencer opened the door. He looked like hell. He was puffy and pale and his hair was in the most spectacular kind of disarray.

Emily thought it was possible he'd never looked better to her.

She walked past him into the room. He shut the door behind her and faced her, looking like he might be ill at any moment.

She'd spent the walk back to the room rehearsing what she'd say, but now it all flew out of her mind and she was left with just the truth, and what she was feeling. "You and I are a family, Spencer. With or without children."

He hesitated, looking into her face, his expression confused, like he wasn't sure what she was saying.. "But – can you be happy without them?"

"I'll be happy with you. Do you know how many people search all their lives for what we have and never find it? I can't give that up. I can't give  _you_  up. I'm not going to lie. I don't know how I'll feel without children. I do know how I'll feel without you."

"I don't want you making a sacrifice that's too much. You'll only come to hate me for it."

"I'm the only one who can judge if it's too much." She took one step closer. He stayed where he was, his arms crossed over his chest. "The children I want are  _our_  children, Spencer. I'm almost forty years old. I've had relationships before, serious ones, but I've never come close to giving anyone else as much of myself as I've given you. I'm just – I'm unsalvageable. I'm terminally in love with you, and I can't even fathom trying to find someone else, who could never be even half of what you are to me, just so I could have his children instead of yours. No. I don't want some other man's children. If it isn't in our future to be parents, so be it. I'd rather live my life with you and stay childless than have children with anyone else. It's you or no one."

He shut his eyes, his whole body loosening. "Are you sure?"

She nodded. "I'm positive."

"Okay," he whispered.

"Spencer?"

"What?" he said, looking like he was still in shock.

"Why are you still way over there?"

He met her gaze and broke into a happy, relieved grin, then covered the distance between them in one long stride. He grabbed her up and clutched her tightly in his arms, raining kisses down all over her face. She just stayed still and let him, hanging onto his shoulders with her toes barely touching the ground, until he finally got around to kissing her on the mouth so she could join in, too. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "Maybe someday…"

"Shh," she said, putting a finger over his lips. "I don't want to talk about it again now, and I don't want you making a promise you can't keep. What I want is to make love to you until we both pass out, okay?"

He nodded. "Okay," he managed to get out before they fell into another kiss, and the time for talking was over.

* * *

When Emily woke up, she was alone in the bed, but she could hear him in the bathroom. She just lay there, warm and comfortable and pleasantly sore from the night they'd just passed. True to her suggestion, they'd gone at each other until they were too exhausted to continue. The floodgates had opened and a lot of things poured out, things neither of them had let outside themselves. They'd said things to each other that you didn't say in daylight, things that would sound cheap and canned in the real world but that were true and forceful in the darkness when it was just them and it had become safe to say them. Confessions and declarations that tapped something deep, emptying them of the last holdouts that kept them separate. By the time they dropped off to sleep, she felt like she was inside his skin, sharing his blood and feeling his pulse in her own body.

He came out of the bathroom, still naked, and crawled beneath the sheets, burrowing close to her to warm himself back up. "Snuggly," she teased.

"Mmmmph," was all he said, the covers back up to his eyebrows.

She lifted her hand to his hair. "Hey," she said.

"What?"

"Come on, I want to talk to you."

He shifted, grumbling, until his head was free of the covers, scooting back so they could see each other. "What?"

She looked at his face for a moment, confirming in her head the decision she'd just made. "Let's get married right now."

He frowned. "Huh? Now?"

"Why not? We're here, it is Vegas."

"But – huh? I'm confused," he said, rubbing his face.

She propped her head on her hand and ran the other one over his chest. "Something's changed." He nodded slowly. "We're together now in a way that's – more," she finished, lamely. Whatever it was she meant, it wasn't something that fit inside words, but he seemed to understand. "All that's left is to make it official. I'm sick of waiting. We weren't going to make a big deal out of it at home, anyway."

" _We_  weren't. Your mother's planning that big reception."

"I didn't ask her to do that. Anyway, she can still have it. We'll show up."

He narrowed his eyes, peering at her like he wasn't sure she wasn't having him on. "You're serious."

"Yes. I'm serious." She leaned closer. "I feel like I'm done with the life I had by myself. Until last night I was still hanging onto it, clinging to those last little bits with my fingernails. Does that make any sense?"

He nodded. "Yeah. It does."

"I just want to move on to the part where it's us, instead of me and you." She laid her hand on his cheek. "I don't want to go back home to our job and our house and our friends until you're my husband."

He seemed to be considering this. Finally, he fetched a deep sigh. "We have a lot of phone calls to make."

* * *

Showers were hurriedly taken, room service breakfast was ordered. "Can we avoid those tacky wedding chapels?" she asked. "I'd rather not have Elvis marry us if we can help it."

"I think I can arrange something," he said, his mouth half full of a biscuit slathered with jam. "I've got a friend who works in event-planning at the Bellagio. She can probably help us find a space and someone to do the official part. That's all we really need, right?"

"Who's this friend?" she asked, cocking one eyebrow and putting on fake jealousy just because it would make him smile.

It did. "Chill out there, Lola. She's just one of the grateful hordes who have me to thank for their high school GPAs. But you know – it's going to be pretty much impossible to do this today. It'll have to be tomorrow."

"I know. I'm hoping the team can make it out here. They'll kill us if we don't at least give them the chance."

"Short notice."

"Well, they do have a jet…" she said, casting her eyes innocently about the room.

Reid clucked disapprovingly. "Agent Prentiss, that is a misuse of government resources."

"Hell, they can bill me. And It'll be easier for your mom this way. She won't have to fly."

He smiled. "Yeah. That's good."

She hesitated before asking. "You want to call your dad?"

"I guess I should," he muttered.

"He did buy us a house, technically."

"Okay, but you have to call your own mother. No way I'm falling on that sword."

"I wouldn't ask you to. Me she has to speak to again."

They got up from their breakfast and divvied up the calls, talking over one another in rapid-fire reminders and interjections. "Okay, I got it. I'm gonna start with Morgan." He stopped and looked at her, his face alight. "We're really doing this, aren't we?"

She grinned. "We sure as hell are."

* * *

_the next day_

__

* * *

_  
_

 

"That's a twelve hundred dollar suit and you're still wearing mismatched socks." Morgan shook his head, trying to sound annoyed when in fact, he wouldn't have had it any other way. It just wouldn't be Reid without mismatched socks.

Morgan had managed to convince him to spring for a decent suit for once in his life. They'd gotten it that morning in a mad dash through a mens' store in the forum shops at Caesar's Palace, where the clerks hadn't quite known what to make of the two of them, Morgan in jeans and a t-shirt and Reid with his hair flying and some crazy Grandpa sweater. The suit was dark blue with a fine pinstripe and it actually fit him; that alone was an improvement over a lot of Reid's clothes. The salesman had been biased not only by his commission but also by the fact that he had been coming on to Reid hard, but he'd been right about the suit. It looked good on him; it accentuated his height and gave his slender build some elegance. If only he could manage to tie the tie so the trailing end wasn't twice too long for once. "It's good luck. I think I want good luck today of all days."

"Got a penny in your shoe, too?"

He frowned. "Huh?"

"Never mind. Here, let me do that." Morgan yanked the tie off Reid's neck, put it around his own and started fixing it.

"Tell me you got the rings."

"Yep. Your desk drawer where you said they were."

"Emily will be surprised. She doesn't think we're going to get to have them today, she doesn't know I picked them up last week." He took the tie back from Morgan. "Thanks."

"Hey, what's a best man for?"

"Well, legend holds that the job of the best man was to defend the bride against men who came to carry her off, although another interpretation says that it was to fight off the bride's male relatives who might show up to rescue her after the groom kidnapped her."

"Huh. Well, if anyone makes a wrong move, they're getting their assess squished to a grease spot."

Reid grinned. "I don't anticipate that Emily's cousin Hobart will show up guns ablaze, but I appreciate the thought."

"Don't think you're escaping your bachelor party with this little spur-of-the-moment wedding stunt, either," Morgan said, pointing at him. "Me and Kevin have been working on it and you're not wriggling your way out of it."

"But after today, I won't be a bachelor."

"Technicalities."

Hotch and Rossi came in, both of them in nicer-than-usual suits with small boutonnieres on their lapels. Rossi was holding two more, one of them a little fancier. "JJ says these are for you guys. I'm guessing the big one's for the groom," he said, winking at Reid who colored a little at the word.

"You ought to be an old pro at this by now, Dave," Morgan said, watching as Reid tried to pin the flower to his own lapel without spiking himself.

"I never had to do anything but show up at my weddings."

"Did you see Emily? How is she?" Reid asked. Morgan could see the nervousness creeping into his friend's face. Just that crinkling between his eyebrows, it was a dead giveaway.

"I did, and she's fine," Hotch said.

"Did somebody bring her dress?" Morgan asked.

Reid shook his head. "She doesn't have one. She was just going to wear something she already had, nothing too fancy. She said she'd feel stupid wearing a big bridal gown to the courthouse." He put his hands in his pockets. Morgan wanted to tell him to cut it out, it ruined the lines of the suit, but he held his tongue. "I'm a little worried that it'll start hitting her that her dad's not here to give her away."

"Her mother offered to do it," Rossi said.

Reid looked a little surprised at that. "Really?"

"Yes, but Emily said no. She said she doesn't need to be given away. I believe her exact words were, 'Nobody owns me, I'm giving  _myself_  to Spencer.'"

Reid smiled. "Yeah. That's my Lola," he murmured, his eyes far away. Morgan suppressed the urge to finally ask Reid about the 'Lola' thing. Reid looked up at each of them in turn. "It really means a lot to us that you guys came out here on a moment's notice," he said. "I know it was a surprise."

Morgan clapped him on the shoulder. "We couldn't miss this, kid."

"And I can't believe you used the jet! Better hope Strauss doesn't find out."

Hotch crossed his arms. "It's perfectly legitimate. We're staying here after you and Emily leave for Tahoe. We've got a case to work."

Reid's eyebrow arched. "Oh yeah? How long did it take JJ to dig a local case out of the files?"

The slightest hint of a smile touched Hotch's lips. "About an hour and a half."

* * *

Aaron Hotchner couldn't help but think of his own wedding as he took his seat next to Rossi. That had been a big traditional American spectacle. The church full of guests, the clergyman, the bridesmaids in their gowns and the groomsmen in their tuxes. The music and the flower girls and the whole ball of wax.

This couldn't be more different. Reid's friend who managed events at this hotel had worked some kind of magic and gotten them a half hour in a sunny atrium intended for just this purpose. It had about twenty chairs set up, far more than they'd need, and was bedecked in garlands and plants and little white lights. The officiant, a woman in a suit who worked for the hotel performing weddings, waited patiently in a chair off to the side. Hotch wondered if she liked her job, seeing people in love get married day after day, or if even that could get old.

He looked around at the small assemblage of guests. Emily's mother, grandmother and one of her cousins were sitting right in front of him; they'd flown out that morning. Elizabeth had been surprisingly accepting of this sudden change of plans – or else she was putting up a good front to spare her daughter the angst. Morgan and Reid were standing at the front, waiting for things to get underway. Reid, who actually looked his age in the new suit he was wearing, seemed both glowingly happy and tremblingly petrified. Hotch remembered the feeling. The door opened again and Hotch turned to see Garcia enter with Reid's mother, who was well turned out. You would not have guessed at her illness to see her now, looking pulled-together and patrician. Reid walked back to meet her, smiling and taking her elbow.

Hotch had learned from Emily that Reid had put in a call to his father the day before, but hadn't gotten a response. Not even one to convey regrets. Knowing what he knew about William Reid's life, he couldn't imagine that the man was out of town or had other pressing plans that couldn't be rescheduled for his own son's wedding. Reid didn't appear to be giving it a second thought, but when Emily had told Hotch and Rossi about it, she'd been livid on his behalf, if unsurprised. A man who couldn't be bothered to visit, call or even send a birthday card when he lived ten minutes away wouldn't shock anyone with his absence.

"I thought I was going to have to fly, Spencer," he heard Diana say as they passed Hotch's chair.

"I know, Mom. We changed our minds."

"This is better," she said, sounding decisive about that. "Do it quick and get on with your lives."

He saw Reid smile. "That's one way to look at it."

Garcia sat down behind Diana, a handkerchief ready to blot her inevitable tears. Hotch saw Morgan send her a wink and a smile.

JJ must have been watching, because as soon as everyone was seated, she and Emily walked out from a side door. No procession, no Trumpet Voluntary. Here are the people who wish to be married. Take it or leave it.

Hotch watched the expression on Reid's face when he saw his bride, seeing there that same amazement he'd felt himself when it hit home that coming toward him was a woman who was actually about to marry him. Of her own free will, no less. Emily was wearing a red dress and carrying a small, casual spray of flowers. She and Reid met in the middle, beaming at each other. She took his hand. "You look beautiful," Hotch heard Reid whisper.

"So do you," Emily replied.

Morgan turned to the officiant. "We're ready," he said.

Hotch felt himself getting a little nostalgic as he watched two of his agents, two of his  _friends_ , marry each other. It was a short ceremony, just the basics. No handwritten vows, no readings, no music. Just the declaration of intent, and the repeated promises. Better or worse, sickness and health, richer or poorer. He looked at their faces as they spoke the phrases. No tears, no stumbling or hesitancy. Just certainty. Confidence in each other and the vows they were making. It was almost as if they wanted to get it done so they could get back to what was important to them: catching killers, solving mysteries, getting on with the life they now shared.

Reconciling the Reid before him with the kid he'd met so long ago was difficult. Back then he'd been an emaciated greenhorn, awkward and naive with intelligence to burn and book-learning to spare, but little in the way of worldly wisdom. Now he wasn't as emaciated nor as naive, and while the intelligence was undimmed he'd augmented it with experience, which had led to confidence. Enough confidence to attract the attention of a woman like Emily Prentiss.

She had been an enigma when she joined the BAU. A mysterious interloper who appeared out of nowhere and was shoehorned onto his team, a woman with as much control over her emotions as she had over the Glock she carried. Her defenses lent themselves to absolutism, and he'd had occasion to wonder if anyone had ever really known her. The day her father had died and Hotch saw her turn to Reid in her grief, he'd been shocked to realize that somehow, their genius in residence had tunneled his way past those barriers, and she had rewarded the effort by giving him her heart.

They exchanged their rings. The officiant pronounced them husband and wife. Everyone clapped as they embraced. Hotch saw JJ wipe at her eyes; even Morgan was blinking a little too rapidly. He smiled as the newlyweds kissed each other, both of them grinning widely and giggling with the buoyancy of the moment.

Rossi leaned in. "I'm glad we're here. This is a good thing. I'd hate to have missed it."

Hotch nodded. "Yes. It's a very good thing."


	19. Chapter 19

_Dallas, Texas  
present day_

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* * *

_  
_

 

After watching two failed attempts, Emily silently stepped in front of Spencer and took over fixing his tie. "Your mind's somewhere else this morning, Mr. Prentiss," she murmured.

He shook his head. "Just thinking."

"About Nathan Harris."

He met her eyes. "How'd you know?"

"First, I'm your wife, second, I'm a profiler, which means you're pretty much doomed."

"Right." He sighed. "I should go talk to him."

"There's no reason to do that yet."

"Just a friendly visit isn't enough reason?"

"And you'll what? Casually slip in a question about whether he's murdered anyone lately?"

"We're missing something. Something about him, and Harmon – I don't know." She watched his eyes and saw the precise moment that the idea came into them. He darted away and grabbed his phone. "Garcia! Listen, I need…what? I know it's early! Have some coffee. Anyway…are you listening to me?" Emily chuckled to herself as she dried her hair. Reid on a tear after having an idea was a fulltime job. "What? I can't hear you. Em's drying her hair. Can you turn that off for a minute?" he said to her. Emily obliged him. "No, not you, Garcia. Okay. I want to know every place Kurt Harmon has lived since childhood. Look in those places and those time periods for any connections between him and someone either arrested or even suspected of murder, rape or any crime. Doesn't have to be serial. Spree, crime of passion, whatever. Come to think of it, look for anything bad or unusual. His friends, acquaintances, co-workers – I know it's a lot of data! I don't know, it's just a hunch. Okay. Yeah." He hung up, making a frustrated noise.

"What's the hunch?" Emily asked.

"I don't know. It just seems like if Harmon's not the actual killer, and I'm not saying he isn't, then he's adjacent to more than his fair share of misfortune. He's the boss of a man who was once hospitalized with homicidal tendencies and his ex-girlfriend was shot. I have this feeling that it might not end there. There's a connection. Nathan being here isn't a coincidence, it can't be."

Emily gave up on getting her hair dry and smoothed it back into a ponytail instead. She turned and stopped Reid as he headed for the door, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "Hey."

"What?"

She stepped in front of him and put both hands on his chest. "We had kind of an intense night."

He met her eyes and saw that this wasn't a quick aside before they left. She could see him refocus from the task he'd just given Garcia back onto her. "Yeah, we did," he said, his hands coming up to cover hers.

"I have a feeling this case is about to speed up and we probably won't have much time to talk for awhile."

"It'll keep."

She nodded. "I meant everything I said to you last night," she said, holding his gaze.

"So did I." He cupped her jaw in one hand and kissed her. She tilted her head and pressed closer, and with that the kiss tipped over that fine line between quick-but-heartfelt and not-for-public-consumption. She slid her hands up around his neck and parted her lips, working his mouth with her own. If she lived to be a hundred, Emily thought she'd never get tired of kissing him. Communication wasn't always easy, sharing a home had its difficulties, sex was sometimes a challenge, but this always worked. Bad day? Argument with her mother? Found another gray hair? Frustrated by serial killers? A kiss from Dr. Spencer Reid wouldn't solve these problems but it always made her feel better.

They both jumped and sprang apart at a sharp knock on their door. "Hey!" Morgan shouted. "Enough making out, let's get going!"

Reid snickered. "Damn profilers."

* * *

The team worked quietly all morning, keeping an eye on the clock. Elle's service was at one p.m. and no one had any intention of being late. JJ, Morgan and Detective Bullock headed back to McKinniss to continue the interviews there while Hotch, Rossi and Prentiss sorted through Harmon's background. Reid spent most of the morning at his maps, adding marks and notations when new information surfaced.

Emily shook her head, flipping through Harmon's records. "There's something about this guy's history. Here, high school. He's vice-president of the senior class. He's salutatorian. College, he's managing editor of the school paper, he's technical director of the student musical theater production. He's vice-chair of the computer science department at the votech where he taught." She looked up at Rossi. "He likes to be in the thick of things, but never quite in charge."

"Lack of confidence?"

"I don't think that's his problem. I think that's where he wants to be."

"There's certainly more heat and more pressure right at the top. Maybe he doesn't want the scrutiny."

"It's the same deal at McKinniss. Supervisor of the IT department, but he still reports to the department head."

"What do we think attracted him to Elle?"

"Access," Hotch said, his first contribution since they'd sat down. "She had access to a lot of people. How they thought, what they felt, their ideas and their complaints. A consultant like Elle can have a lot of power without actually being in charge. It's perfect."

"He wants the power, but he doesn't want the pressure or the consequences," Emily said.

"Guys," Garcia said. "I think I know something else about Kurt Harmon."

"What?" Reid said, Garcia's voice drawing his attention from his maps.

"Bad luck seems to follow him around but it never quite lands on him. When he was in high school, his younger brother ran away from home and was found dead years later on the streets of New Orleans. Overdose. And one of his school friends committed suicide. In college, his freshman year roommate had some kind of a breakdown and had to leave school. Sophomore year, a co-worker of his at the dining hall was arrested for stealing from the till. Junior year, a professor was found to be falsifying data in his research, a project that Harmon was helping with, and he lost his tenure. That's as far as I've gotten."

Hotch frowned. "There's no pattern to those events except that Harmon knew the people involved."

"Isn't that enough?" Reid said.

"No. You take any one person, you can find people around them who've had misfortunes at any given time in their lives." Hotch glanced at his watch. "We're going to have to pick this up later. We should leave now, we don't want to be late."

Everyone paused, the reminder of why they were here at all hitting them at once. They closed their files, put away their notebooks, shut down their computers and prepared to attend the funeral of a friend.

Reid approached her as she was putting on her coat. He looked thoughtful. "What?" she asked.

"I think you should take off your wedding ring. We might see Harmon at the service. He seemed to zero in on you by the end of the interview."

"You think he might try to worm in closer if he can?"

"It wouldn't hurt to have him think he could get you sympathizing with him. I think it's an opening we might want to give him, let's leave it at that."

"He probably saw the rings on me at the interview."

"It's worth a try."

She sighed. "I hate taking them off."

"I know."

"You do it," she said, holding out her hand. "Hang on to them for me, and then you can put them back on me later."

He smiled. "You are surprisingly sentimental for a woman with your history and job experience."

"This from the man who proposed to me under the full moon for extra mojo." He took her hand and slid both rings off her finger. She felt a little twinge as they came off into his palm. "Well – I don't  _feel_  single."

"Good, because ring or no ring, you're still mine."

She snorted. "Whoa there, Sasquatch. Please keep your male privilege on that side of the yellow line."

"Sorry. I'm having a territorial response at the idea of another man expressing sexual interest in my wife. It's an evolutionary adaptation with its origins in the masculine competition for mates in pre-hominid society."

"Bit of a caveman moment?"

"Isn't that what I just said?" He slipped her rings into his pocket.

"I promise not to leave you for him, if that's any consolation."

He smiled. "It helps."

She put a hand on his arm, the most demonstrative she could be in the middle of a police station. "Come on, let's go." He nodded, sobering as he remembered their destination.

* * *

The service was being held at the funeral home that had handled Elle's remains, a large converted Italianate building with several additions. Morgan and JJ met them in the courtyard. Everyone was somber.

They went into the house and took their turns signing the guestbook. Reid nudged her; she followed his eyes and saw Kurt Harmon enter. He saw them, but quickly averted his gaze and proceeded into the chamber.

"Uncomfortable with scrutiny," she murmured.

Reid didn't reply at first, just watched him walk away. "We're not on duty right now," he finally said.

"Maybe he couldn't deal with a whole group of FBI agents."

"Maybe so."

She sighed. "Well, if he's not going to hit on me, at least I can do this," she said, then reached out and took her husband's hand, twining their fingers together. He glanced down at her with a shaky smile, squeezing back.

They took seats near the center of the room, a spacious chamber with seats for at least a hundred. Emily watched Elle's family. Her mother and stepfather, sister and older brother had made the trip. They were huddled close together, talking and reaching across each other to clasp hands. Their body language revealed their closeness. Harmon didn't approach them. He seemed to want to assert himself, but then retreated and took a seat in the row behind them. Emily wondered if he were just uncomfortable around so many people who'd known Elle. Was he wondering how much they knew about him? Had he made an effort to meet the people she knew? Was he afraid of seeming suspicious?

The service began. It was a simple one, with a blessing by a priest, a few prayers and a eulogy delivered by Jerrell Ross that was both eloquent and heartfelt. She could hear Garcia sniffling and saw Morgan put his arm around her. Emily held Spencer's hand through the service. He looked calm, but she could feel the tension in his body. The pressure of his hand in hers waxed and waned as his emotions did. The priest said a benediction and informed everyone that all were welcome to a reception at Mrs. Ross's house after the service.

On some silent agreement, the team waited until most of the other mourners had left. They were still profilers, and none of them could pass up the chance to watch everyone's behavior, especially Kurt Harmon's. He made himself scarce pretty quickly, and eventually the team got up to leave.

It was Reid who saw him first. He stopped in his tracks, and before anyone could ask him what was wrong, they'd all seen him, too.

Jason Gideon was sitting in the back row, alone, looking at them.

* * *

Emily stuck close to Spencer at Mrs. Ross's house. Harmon hadn't put in an appearance here, so she didn't have to school her behavior. She looked through the rear window to the spacious backyard, where the rest of the team were talking to Gideon. Reid had his back to the window and acted like he had no idea what was going on out there and no interest in finding out.

"You should talk to him."

He glanced at her. "What would I say?"

"Spencer, I'm about 90% sure that he came here to see you."

"He came here for Elle."

"That's part of it. Not the biggest part."

"Then why now? Why here? Why at a funeral of someone we cared about, why not a happier occasion? A birthday, or a holiday, or our wedding…"

"We eloped."

"Not the point." He shook his head, staring down at the cup of coffee he was holding. "They're all just talking to him like nothing happened," he said, quietly.

"Don't you think it's time to let it go?"

"Let it go? He's the one who got me this job. He wanted me doing this, he told me I was made for it. He set me loose and then he disappeared."

"Something horrible happened to him."

"Something horrible happened to me, too, but you don't see me giving up and running away."

Emily had to admit he had a point there. "Holding onto this stuff doesn't help you. Has it helped you to keep being angry at your father for twenty years?" He said nothing. "So don't do it for him. Do it for yourself."

He looked at her. "You talk to him, then."

"Me? What am I supposed to say to him?"

"I don't know. Whatever you think I'd say."

She shook her head. "Spencer…"

"Fine, don't talk to him. It doesn't matter." He set down the coffee cup and stalked away toward the front door. Emily blew air through her teeth.  _Great._ The bitchy, adolescent side of Spencer was by far her least favorite aspect of his personality.

She walked to the backyard, meeting JJ and Garcia coming in. "Spence okay?" JJ asked under her breath.

Emily shrugged. "He just left in a huff. Let him cool down." She passed them and went outside. Hotch and Rossi were still talking to Gideon, the three of them standing in a little huddle near the bird feeder. She approached them and just stood there silently. Hotch and Rossi saw her and exchanged a glance.

"We should get back to the station," Rossi said. "Jason, it was good seeing you."

"You too, Dave," Gideon said.

Hotch shook his hand. "Keep in touch," he said neutrally. Gideon just nodded. When they were gone, he turned to face her. They just looked at each other for a moment, then Gideon motioned her to a nearby bench. They sat, Emily perching on the edge of the seat. She could see that he was perfectly aware on whose behalf she was speaking.

She had to admit, Gideon looked good. More content, and more relaxed. He didn't have that sallow, haunted look he'd had there at the end. His hair was a little longer. It suited him. "He doesn't want to talk to me, does he?" he finally asked.

She shook her head. "He left."

"So he sent you instead?" Emily nodded. He shifted a little, then leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. "I saw you with him at the service." The question was implied.

"He's my husband. Almost a year now."

Gideon nodded. "I thought so."

She looked out toward Jerrell Ross's garden, where other mourners were talking among themselves. "Aren't you surprised?" she asked, keeping her tone mild. "Most people are. They say they never would have predicted it, they say it's…"

He cut her off. "I'm not surprised at all."

Now it was her turn to be surprised. "Really?"

"You've been hurt by duplicitous people. You distrust easy sentiment but long for a real connection. You value competence and yearn to be understood. I thought that someday you might see that he was exactly what you'd searched for."

She didn't feel like having her relationship with Spencer analyzed. Not by Gideon, not right now. "You hurt him, you know. I see it every day."

"I know. I didn't want to. It was unavoidable." He sat back. "Master Lin-Chi taught that if you see the Buddha in the road, you must kill him. You must kill your parents, and kill your teacher. It's a lesson about personal truth. No one can help you reach it, not a teacher or a guide or a parent. It has to come from within."

"Don't pretend that you left to teach him some kind of spiritual lesson."

"No. It had nothing to do with him at all, or any of you. I did what I had to do, for me."

She looked at him. "Was it worth it?"

He met her eyes. "It saved my life."

"He told me to tell you what I thought he'd say. I don't know what that is."

"Yes, you do." He sighed. "I came here for two reasons. To pay my respects to a friend and colleague, and to try to close a wound I left in someone I still care about, someone I miss every day. I've done the first, but I don't think the second is possible. I've seen him, and I know that he's just what I hoped he would become. That'll have to be enough." He fixed her with that penetrating stare he used to use on UNSUBs. "You love him?"

She matched him stare for stare. "Deeply."

Gideon nodded. "Then tell me what you know he'd want to say to me."

"He'd say that he doesn't need you anymore."

He smiled. "Tell him that he never did."

* * *

Hotch, Rossi and Reid were waiting for her in the driveway. Reid was standing a little bit apart, staring into space. "Ready?" Hotch said.

She nodded. Reid wasn't even looking at her. They got into the back seat of the SUV, Hotch getting in the driver's seat. Within moments they were on the road back to the station. Emily restrained herself from speaking first.

Finally, he gave in. "You going to tell me what you and Gideon talked about?" he said.

"No, I don't think I will." She saw Hotch and Rossi glance at each other.

Now he turned to face her. "Why not?"

"Because you're being a bitch, that's why."

Rossi snorted. Reid gave her a Look. "Can we not fight in front of Mom and Dad, please?"

"Oh, like they haven't heard it before. Remember that time on the jet when we spent the entire flight from Harrisburg arguing about my mother?"

"Yes," Hotch interjected, his voice grim.

Emily barely heard him. "If you didn't want to talk to Gideon, fine. You didn't have to send me to do your dirty work."

"You didn't have to go if you were so offended that I suggested it!"

She was done. "Let's not get into it."

"Yes, let's not," Hotch muttered.

The rest of the drive back to the station passed in silence. The two feet of space between her and Reid in the back seat felt like an Arctic tundra.


	20. Chapter 20

_Washington, DC  
one year and ten months ago_

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Emily sighed, a deep pull and exhale of profound contentment. It was the weekend, she had no plans and no obligations, the team had just caught a pedophile and rescued the nine-year-old boy he'd kidnapped, and Strauss had given them all an official letter of commendation for their quick solution of the case.

But her contentment at this moment had less to do with all of that and more to do with the mind-blowing sex she'd just had with Spencer Reid, who she was still getting used to thinking of as her boyfriend. They'd come to her apartment after work and ordered in Chinese food, settling on the couch to watch a rerun of "The Prisoner" on TV while they waited for it to arrive. She'd stretched out, curled against his side with his arm resting easily around her, and marveled at how natural this was all starting to feel. Just two months since their first date, and she was still waiting for this to become strange or awkward. Instead, it kept becoming more comfortable. The Chinese food had soon been abandoned for a pretty hot and heavy session of making out on the couch; they'd eventually relocated to her bedroom, where clothes were shed and they'd consummated what they'd started downstairs.

Now he was lying on his stomach like a dead man, his face turned away from her, arms and legs splayed as if he lacked the energy even to arrange his own limbs. Emily lay on her side tucked next to him, her head resting on his shoulder blade, riding the expansions of his chest with his breath. She was lightly stroking his back, her fingers tracing meaningless patterns up and down his spine. "Your skin is so soft," she murmured, flattening her palm on his back and smoothing it across the unblemished expanse, over his other shoulder and down his arm. "I can't stop touching you."

He made a low purring noise. "Good. I don't want you to stop."

She turned her head and pressed her lips to his back, working her way toward his neck, her hand wandering with a little more intent now. "Spencer?"

"Hmmmm?"

She slid her hand down to his ass, which was just as impossibly soft as the rest of him. "I think I must have you again," she said, putting on a low, growly voice.

He chuckled low and flipped over onto his back. Emily kissed his chest, tweaking his nipple with her fingers. "You are surprisingly insatiable," he said, but his hand was moving up and down her back now.

"It's your fault for being irresistible." She tucked her face into his neck, kissing and sucking the skin over his pulse.

"I've been called many things but never that," he murmured.

She propped up on one elbow and looked down into his face, running one finger around his hairline. "How did it take me so long to notice how gorgeous you are?"

He flushed pink but didn't look away. "I noticed how gorgeous  _you_  are the first time I met you." His hand slid up into her hair and pulled her face down to his; he captured her mouth in a deep, sensuous kiss. Emily slid her hand down his stomach and grasped his cock, feeling it harden in her hand. She wasted no time; she hadn't been kidding when she'd said she had to have him again. As soon as he was erect she sat up and swung one leg over his hips, lowering herself onto him with a sigh. His head pressed back and his eyes closed, his long neck arching. She bent over and trailed kisses up his throat to his jaw. His hands slid up her back and held her to him, then around front to her breasts as she sat up again, pressing herself down on him, rotating her hips and relishing the feeling of his hard length inside her. She slid her hands down his arms as he fondled her breasts, his eyes fixed on them. Emily wasn't vain about her body but she was aware that she'd been blessed with a pretty fantastic rack. Spencer was quite enamored of her breasts, which was just fine with her; they were very sensitive and she liked a partner who paid them lavish attention. He pulled her torso toward him; she sucked in a breath as he took the tip of her breast in his mouth, her hips rocking harder on him.

She was undone by the low, primal sounds that came from him during sex, the sound so abandoned and unschooled that she couldn't have gotten a more potent sign of her effect on him. She groaned as her body stuttered upward toward the peak. "Em…I'm close," he gasped.

"Me too," she said. He had both hands on her hips now. She leaned back, planting her hands on his knees for leverage, riding him hard and fast. She tipped over with a cry, clenching around him, pulling him over the edge with her. He yelled something that might have been her name as he came, his fingers gripping her ass to hold her tight against him. Emily leaned forward and collapsed over him.

For a few moments they just lay there, loosely wrapped around each other, breathing hard and listening to each other's heartbeats.

Spencer sat up, bearing her with him so she ended up in his lap, and kissed her hard, his arms wrapped tight around her. She kissed back, her hands in his hair. He buried his face in her shoulder and held her close like he was imprinting on her. Emily sighed, smiling. "I guess that was good for you," she whispered.

He chuckled and drew back to look into her face. "It's never been like this with anybody else," he said. "This is what it's supposed to be like. I finally get it."

"I know what you mean," she said. "I used to think I'd had good sex. Then I had sex with you."

He grinned, that broad grin that lit up the whole world. "Well, it isn't me. I'm no great legendary lover that anybody would write epic poems about."

"It isn't me, either."

He smoothed her hair back from her face, letting his hand trail down her cheek. "There's only one explanation, then."

"What?"

"If it isn't me, and it isn't you, then it must be so good because it's  _us._ "

She smiled, her heart swelling with this feeling she'd been having lately for him. She knew what it was. She was pretending it was too soon for that kind of thing, calling it "fondness" or "affection" in her head, but she knew better. She loved him, after only two months of dating she loved him, and her heart knew it even if her cautious brain wasn't ready to admit to it. But now wasn't the time to make that little pronouncement. "I think you might be right," she said.

"I think maybe we should get some more experience to test that theory," he said.

"You are going to wear me right out, Dr. Reid," she said. "But we have plenty of time, don't we? I was hoping we could spend the weekend together."

He nodded. "Can't think of anything I'd rather do." He lay back down, pulling her with him, and they settled into a comfortable tangle amidst the rumpled bedsheets. Emily let her eyes fall closed, relaxing into that same feeling of contentment and safety.

_Happines. That's what this is called. Remember happiness?_

_I remember it now. He's helped me remember. And I want it. I want it for a long time._

__

* * *

_  
_

 

_Dallas, Texas  
present day_

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* * *

_  
_

 

They walked into their corner of the police station, quieter than usual, Elle still on their minds. Emily was more annoyed than she wanted to be. He couldn't just suck it up and talk to Gideon, it was more important that he hold on to his righteous anger and remain the wronged party.

"Let's get back to Harmon's history," Hotch said, in charge as always. "Thin as the evidence is, he's still our most viable suspect."

Everyone bent back to the task they'd been on before the service. The room was quieter, more focused. Elle's death weighed on them, seeing the mourners at her service, being among them and feeling the grief themselves had taken its toll.

Emily looked up after about an hour when she realized Reid hadn't moved in awhile. He was standing and staring at his maps – or rather, through them. He wasn't looking at them. In fact, he had that squinty, faraway look he got when he was about to have a breakthrough.

Hotch had noticed, too. "Reid?" he said. Everyone looked up now. "What is it?"

Reid turned around, his eyes darting back and forth in that way that always looked like he was reading words written in the air that only he could see.

"Nathan," he said. "People who are around Kurt Harmon find themselves doing bad things. Nathan's here. He works for Kurt Harmon. And his whole life, he's struggled with the desire to do bad things." He looked around at their expectant faces. "Nathan Harris fantasized about killing prostitutes. Touching their blood, exploring their bodies," he said, his voice low and faraway. Thinking out loud. "He imagined what he'd seen done, the bodies he came across. It's been years – what's the last blood he saw? What's the thing that haunts him now?" He held up one hand as if calling for attention, then he darted over to Garcia. "Garcia, I need you to search Dallas and surrounding – no, search the whole state. Look for victims of either sex, COD stab wounds to any part of the body but most likely the torso, with slashes across their wrists, pre or postmortem but not the cause of death."

She frowned but didn't question him. "Okay, doc, you got it." Her fingers flew over the keyboard.

"Reid, what's this…" Rossi began, and that was as far as he got.

"I've got one in Dallas," Garcia said, her voice flat as she read off the screen. She flew the file and photos up to the large monitor on the wall. "One in Fort Worth. Widening the search…" She trailed off. "I've got at least seven. All over the state."

The pictures stacked over each other. Dead boys. Young men. Stabbed and wrists slashed in bloodless gaping mouths. Everyone gathered around to look at the photos.

"How'd you know?" Morgan said, staring at Reid like he'd just pulled a rabbit out of his hat, which in a way, he had.

Reid's face had gone deathly pale. He was staring at the bodies. When he spoke, his voice was hollow. "He thought his only hope for staying human was to end his life." He looked at Garcia. "Widen the search. Check every place Nathan's lived. Find out when these Texas murders started." He returned his gaze to the board. "He's killing himself, over and over again. This isn't sexual, his hate is directed inward, not outward. He couldn't ignore the urges anymore, so he subverted them into expressions of frustration and guilt over his failure to end his own life."

Emily felt cold. The Agent Prentiss half of herself was looking at the wounds, at the victims, clicking off observations, tallying up elements of the profile. The Mrs. Reid half of herself was worrying what this was going to do to Spencer.

"It might not be Harris," Hotch said, quietly, like he didn't really believe it himself.

Reid shook his head. "It's him. This is what he's become." No one said anything. Reid turned around, a haunted expression on his face. He pushed past the team, not meeting anyone's eyes, and headed for the back door. Emily watched him go.

Morgan started to follow. She put out a hand and stopped him. "No. Let him be."

"Emily, we need him to…"

"Let him go," she said, more emphatically. "He needs a minute to absorb this."

Garcia spoke up. "No bodies matching this signature in any other place where Nathan Harris has lived. Not too hard, he's only lived two places. The first body was found in Fort Worth – two weeks after he moved here."

"Then something happened to him after he moved here. He had a trigger that he didn't have in DC."

The answer hit them all at once. "Harmon," Rossi said. "Jesus – he's a mastermind."

"A what?" Garcia said.

"Someone who gets off manipulating others to commit crimes. He gets the same thrill from it that the actual killer gets from the murder. He has a deep desire to do these things himself, but can't bring himself to do it so he gets satisfaction by committing crimes by proxy, through other people. It doesn't have to be murder, but it can start with smaller crimes and escalate from there."

"It explains his history of being near power but never  _in_  power," Morgan said. "Puts him in a position to whisper in people's ears."

"What if it started with his brother?" Emily said, picking up Harmon's file. "He ran away from home. What if Harmon got him to do it somehow? And his school friend who committed suicide, that could fit, too."

"His college professor who falsified his research. Harmon worked on that project," Hotch said. "And the co-worker who stole from the till."

"He made these people do all these things?" Garcia said, looking skeptical.

"Not exactly. He's a profiler, too," Rossi said. "He seeks out people who already have the inclination and then – nudges. He tricks, he persuades, he feigns approval of whatever secret thing they wish they could do. He's got a million ways to make you do what you told yourself you'd never do."

Hotch had heard enough. "Morgan, JJ, dig up Harmon's parents. I want to know more about his brother. If that was his first victim, it's what informed all his victims. And he couldn't have sought it out that first time, he must have exploited what was there all along. It triggered a need in him to manipulate others, to get them to do the things he's too afraid to do himself."

"On it," JJ said.

"Garcia, keep looking for other people he may have influenced everywhere he's lived. Two weeks isn't a very long time to work on Nathan, he had to have experience," Hotch went on. "Concentrate on his time here in Dallas."

"I am on the hunt," Garcia said, refocusing on her computer.

Hotch swung his gaze over to Emily. "I don't need to give you marching orders, do I?"

She grit her teeth. "I'm not his nursemaid, you know."

"We need him focused on this case. He has to put aside his connection to Nathan Harris."

"Hotch, I need to be investigating Harmon. Just because I'm married to him doesn't mean I always need to be your first pick to hand-hold him." She felt Morgan and JJ looking at her strangely. She knew she was being harsh, but she was smarting from the Gideon thing and didn't feel particularly inclined to go talk Spencer off his ledge.

Hotch wasn't having it. "Well, Emily, you should have thought of that before the two of you convinced me to keep you on this team together. The downside is that if one of you is struggling, you're damn right the other's going to be my first pick to handle it. So handle it."

Emily considered arguing, but let it go.  _He has a point, anyway. And…oh, hell. Mad or not, you still don't want him to sit out there and stew alone. He's still your guy even when he's having a bitch attack._  She went out the back door, which led to a green courtyard with picnic tables where the police could come have a smoke or eat their lunch. The area was deserted now. She found him sitting on the ground with his back to the building, his knees pulled up to his chest. She sat down next to him and waited, eyes closed, feeling the breeze across her face. She let him be for a few minutes before speaking.

"You just broke this case, Dr. Reid."

He looked at her sharply. "What?"

"Harmon? He's a mastermind."

Reid's eyes widened momentarily, then he banged his head back against the building. "Of course he is. That's what triggered Nathan. Harmon must have smelled him coming a mile away."

"Harmon met him in DC at the votech where Nathan took classes. He probably saw it then, but he didn't have enough contact with him to make his move."

"So he maneuvered him into a job here where he could have access to him all day, every day. Nathan must have been damn near irresistible to Harmon. Struggling with homicidal thoughts, a fetishist for murder and blood, worn down by resisting for years. Low hanging fruit."

Emily nodded. "Which only adds to the ways that this is not your fault."

He sighed. "I know." She peered at him. "I know, okay? I really do. It's just…"

"You feel responsible."

He nodded. "I tried to help him and I failed. I saved his life, and now other people are dead. I can't just flip a switch and make it go away."

"We need you on this case. All of you, focused."

He looked at her again. "You're still pissed at me."

"I'm irritated. We'll talk about it later. We have other things to do now."

"I know."

"They're going to pick him up. You might have to talk to him. He trusts you."

"I'll be okay." He looked out toward the setting sun, its reddish hues painting the strong lines of his profile in glowing fire.

"I knew you would be." She glanced over at him. He was looking her with the strangest expression on his face. "What?"

"Nothing. I love you. That's all."

She nodded. "You better, considering I came out here even after you were bitchy about Gideon."

"I know. I'm sorry."

She eyed him, trying to gauge his state of mind. "You want to know what he said?"

He shook his head. "I don't think I need to."

"Good." She patted his knee, stood up and pulled him to his feet. "Let's find Nathan and put Harmon to bed. And Spencer?" He turned back toward her. "I love you, too. Even when I'm irritated with you."

He smiled. "I know."

* * *

The carefully laid plans went about as well as such plans ever went. The DA wouldn't even consider a warrant for Harmon with what they had. When the police went to question Nathan Harris, nobody could find him. He wasn't at home or at work.

"Garcia, we have to find them," Hotch said, unnecessarily, leaning over her.

"Everybody chill!" she exclaimed. "I am on it, and looking over my shoulder is not helping!"

Hotch put his hands up and backed away to where Reid was once again at the maps. "Nathan's bank records indicate he doesn't go out much," Reid said. "He likes this coffee shop, and he shops at this bookstore." He indicated their locations on his map.

"The police have checked both places," Morgan said. "No sign of him. His car's gone from his house."

"Does he have GPS?" Emily asked.

Garcia's head whipped around. "Holy cow, Emily – you just gave me an idea. Hang on." She bent over her keyboard again, windows popping up over and around each other on the three monitors she'd had the Dallas PD bring in for her.

"We can't haul Harris in," Morgan said. "We've got nothing on him except Reid's intuition and the timeline. That might convince us but a judge would laugh in our faces. He'll have to come in for questioning voluntarily."

"I think I can get him to do that," Reid said.

"You'll have to find him first," Rossi said. "Garcia, does Nathan hang out online?"

"Oh yeah," she said, still working the Harmon angle. "He's very active, but he's not actively logged into any of his instant-message accounts right now, if that's what you were hoping. What was the time of death on Elle?"

"The ME said she died between one and two a.m."

"Harmon's car has a built-in lojack system. It's only accessed when the car is reported stolen but most people don't know that it collects data all the time, which you can get access to as long as you rule…as…much…as…me," she said, punctuating each word with a forceful keystroke. She hesitated, then swung away to look at them, pointing at the screen. "Harmon was parked one block away from Elle's house for twenty minutes, twelve fifty a.m. to one ten a.m."

JJ was already running to the door. "I'll get the DA on the phone."

"We're not waiting," Hotch said. "Garcia, stay on top of finding Nathan Harris. We're picking up Harmon. Call me when the warrant comes through. You've got thirty minutes."

* * *

The drive to Harmon's house was a flurry of phone calls and rushed conversations. Reid and Emily rode in the back seat behind Hotch and Rossi while Morgan and JJ drove over with several Dallas PD officers. Hotch finally snapped his phone shut. "We got the warrant."

They pulled up to Harmon's house. He lived in a rural neighborhood where the lots were large; Garcia's satellite images had let them know that there were two outbuildings, a garage about twenty yards off to the right and a workshop fifty yards behind the low ranch house. Everyone piled out of the vehicles, wrapped in Kevlar with guns drawn. Reid and Emily joined the team in the driveway, giving each other's hands a quick, unnoticed squeeze as they always did before the door-kicking started. She spared him a fast, distracted half-smile, but both of their minds were focused on the task at hand.

Hotch spoke quickly. "Morgan and I will take the main house with the DPD. Dave, you and JJ cover the garage, Reid, you and Prentiss head out back to the workshop. We don't want him bolting if he's not in the main house."

They split up. Reid followed Emily around the left side of the house toward the fence that lined the property; they'd keep their backs to it as they crossed the dark yard. He stayed behind her; she was a better shot than he was. She kept her gun raised, its attached flashlight barely penetrating the deep darkness here in the land of no streetlights.

He could hear Hotch and Morgan knocking on the door. "Kurt Harmon! FBI!" Hotch said. Reid kept his ears open, listening for footsteps not their own.

It felt like more than fifty yards across the backyard. The workshop loomed, a dark shape devoid of light. Reid swallowed past his jangling nerves. He often wondered if his fellow agents still got jumpy in situations like this. He knew he did, but was embarrassed to admit it.

Reid suddenly remembered that Emily's rings were still in his pocket. He was seized with an impulse to stop her and make her put them back on, right now. He couldn't do that, of course, but it gave him a bit of a superstitious shiver that they were out here in a potentially dangerous situation and she wasn't wearing the ring he'd given her, the symbol of the promises he'd made to her that he'd love and honor her forever. It was illogical and ridiculous, but he couldn't help it. No sooner had the thought passed through his mind than he saw Emily's left hand lift briefly from supporting her gun, her thumb flicking at her ring finger, then just as quickly resettle. She'd just remembered about the ring, too.

She motioned for him to stop. The trees were growing thicker near the back of the property. Reid aimed his flashlight at the workshop; it still looked deserted. Emily signaled him that they'd flank the door and enter. Crouching, they ran across the rest of the yard and put their backs to the building on either side of the doorway. He watched Emily count off, then she put her shoulder to the door and it crashed open. Only darkness was visible inside.

Reid immediately turned to follow her in, but before he could, a pair of darts on wires flew over his shoulder out of the darkness and struck Emily in the neck, just above her vest. He heard the snap and fizzle of a Taser hit and she fell to the ground, twitching.

Adrenaline slammed through Reid's body. He shoved aside his impulse to help her. The Taser had been fired from behind him, from the backyard. He whirled around, gun raised, but before he could even focus his eyes, something hard struck him on the head and everything went black.


	21. Chapter 21

_Dallas, Texas  
present day  
home of Kurt Harmon_

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* * *

_  
_

 

"…reid…"

Everything was swimming. Black and swimmy. Like diving deep in a lake, the surface a watery mirage and your body floating.

"…reid!...ambulance…" It was a voice. He knew that voice.

_it's morgan. oh, good. morgan's here. he'll fix everything._

Morgan's voice sounded like it was coming from very far away.

_i think i'm unconscious._

"…quick…seal off…APB…whole area…now!" Different voice. Hotch. Giving orders. Sounding urgent, stressed. Something had gone very, very wrong.

_what happened…oh right, he hit me…_

"…he's coming around…get the medics!…" Morgan's voice again, closer now.

_wait…there was a taser…emily!_

He struggled toward the watery surface and then the cool, swimmy blackness parted to admit a messier, noisier blackness.

"Can you hear me, kid? What's your name?"

_Who's your daddy? Is he rich like me?_

He grabbed at Morgan.  _where's my wife? why don't I hear her voice?_  "Emily," he croaked. "Emily…"

"Hang on, Reid. Your head's swelling up like a balloon. Take it easy." Morgan turned and shouted. "Where are the damn paramedics!"

"Where's Emily?" His eyes were fully open now. Flashlights and people were everywhere, half of the lights were aimed down at him. It was like being on an autopsy table. His head was throbbing.

He didn't see Emily.

_Oh God…is she hurt? Is she…is she…no, she can't be._

JJ was kneeling at his side now. "Spence, you have to lie still," she said, pushing on his chest to get him to lay back down. "You could have a concussion." Worry was all over her face, but it wasn't worry for him.

"Who the hell cares, what's…who…where's Emily, dammit!" He saw Morgan and JJ exchange a grim look. Morgan's jaw was clenched tight enough to crack walnuts. "What? I saw that look," he said, seizing Morgan's forearm.

"Everything's okay, kid."

"The hell it is," he said, and pushed them away. He staggered to his feet, throwing off the efforts to keep him down. He swayed a little and held on to Morgan for a moment. He turned and saw the workshop behind him. A Dallas CSI was taking pictures of something on the floor just inside the doorway.

His whole body went cold. He lurched to the workshop's door, shoved an officer aside and stared down at – nothing. Except it wasn't quite nothing. Emily's gun and badge were lying on the floor like they'd been tossed aside.

He had about a half a second of relief that Emily wasn't down there, which was quickly drowned out by the horrible realization that – Emily wasn't down there.

_Oh, God._

"Reid," Hotch said, coming up behind him. "Let the paramedics take a look at your head."

"No," he said, turning and pushing past him. "How long was I out?"

"Five minutes, tops."

That sounded like an eternity. "Where's Emily?" He grabbed Hotch's shoulders, not caring if he was being inappropriate. "Tell me right now, Hotch. Where is she?"

Hotch looked him right in the eye. "He took her, Reid. Harmon took her."

* * *

JJ hovered by the ambulance, watching Spence pace back and forth. She didn't know what to say or do. She'd never seen him like this. It was more unsettling than she could articulate to see him unable to rationalize, unable to dredge up any statistics, but instead helpless in the face of his emotions. She hadn't realized how much she depended on him being Reid, doing what he did, until now here he was, unable to do what he did or to do anything at all. "Kid, you gotta calm down," Morgan said.

"Don't tell me to calm down!" Reid snapped. He had a bandage on his head where Harmon had struck him with a two-by-four they'd found near Reid in the grass. Morgan had been forced to all but wrestle him down before he'd let the paramedics look at him.

Rossi appeared, looking harried. Reid stopped pacing and turned to face him. JJ moved to Spence's side and put her hand on his elbow. He was vibrating all over; it was like putting your hand on the hood of a car with the engine running. "The police have roadblocks set up in a five-mile radius around this place. He's not getting through with her."

Reid shook his head. "We're not going to catch him."

"We will, Reid."

"We're not,  _Dave!_  He had at least a ten minute head start! He had this set up, do you get that? He was calm enough to stay here, hidden, while we pounded on his door and spread out through his property. He waited until we had our backs to the yard and he Tasered her. This wasn't an accident, this was planned. You think he didn't have an exit strategy?"

"Why, though?" Morgan said. "Why her?"

"Do we know he meant to take her?" JJ asked.

"Yes," Reid said. "I was closer to him, if he didn't care who he got he would have taken me. He shot the Taser past me to hit her. I was inconvenient, that's why he just knocked me out. Her, he wanted disabled. He meant to do this. He was prepared. Figuring out why is going to be the key." He shut his eyes and shook his head, one of his hands restlessly worrying over Emily's rings, rolling them back and forth across his palm. He'd been doing that since he'd realized she was gone.

JJ suddenly noticed something else. "Spence – where's  _your_  ring?"

Reid looked at her, then held up his left hand. It was bare. He just stared at it for a moment. "He took it off me," he said. "Took my wedding ring right off my finger." He looked down at himself, then clapped a hand to the front of his vest. "He took my pocket watch, too." He cast his eyes around like he was looking for the answers in the air. "I laid there unconscious and did nothing while he took my ring and then he took Emily."

"Don't go down that road, Reid," Hotch said. "You are not to blame for this."

"I promised I'd always be there for her and when she needed me, I wasn't there. Now I'm still here and he has her, so you do the math." JJ watched his face fighting itself until he turned away and walked a few steps off, his hands gripping his elbows.

"Dave, we gotta find Nathan Harris," Morgan said. "He might know where Harmon would have taken her."

"The police are still looking for him. There's an all-points out, they're watching his house and McKinniss, the whole city's on alert for him."

"We should get back to the station. If they find him we'll have to talk to him right away. JJ and I still need to find Harmon's parents, if we can talk to them they might know something."

Rossi nodded and looked at JJ. "We should get him away from here," he said, dropping his voice and looking at Reid, who still had his back to them. He'd stopped about ten feet away and didn't seem to be paying attention.

"He should go to the hospital," JJ said quietly, stepping closer to them.

"He won't," Morgan said. "Would you?"

Bullock came walking up, looking somber. "How's he doin?" he said, nodding toward Reid.

"Medics don't think he has a concussion."

Bullock eyed Rossi. "That ain't what I meant."

"I know. Look, we need to be getting back to the station so we can do our job. Harmon's profile is more important than ever now, we have to dig up his family, friends, anyone who can tell us more about him. And Nathan Harris has to be found."

"We got crime scene goin over this place with a fine-tooth comb. We'll let ya know if we find any tire tracks or evidence a where he mighta taken her." He sighed, lifting his cowboy hat to rub his partially-bald head. "This ain't good, is it?"

Rossi sighed. "Harmon's not one to take direct action. He's a manipulator. Killing Elle was the first taste he got of violence, as far as we know. He may have discovered he liked it."

"Why'd he want to take Agent Prentiss?"

"We don't know. But we're going to find out."

Bullock nodded. "You all – take care a Stretch, there. Don't know how I'd handle it if it were my pretty wife in the hands a some crazy man."

"Don't worry about Reid," Morgan said, sounding a little defensive. "He'll be okay." But he didn't look convinced, and JJ had to wonder if that were really true.

* * *

Morgan hurried to keep up with Reid, who was practically running into the police station, leaving the rest of them in the dust. Garcia was waiting for them. "Reid – what happened? Is there any sign…"

Reid gave her a quick, terse headshake and pushed past her. "Not now, Garcia." She followed them back to the conference room, looking hurt and near tears.

Morgan put an arm around her. "We don't know anything, baby girl," he murmured. "Just that Emily's gone." They all gathered around the conference table. Hotch looked pinched and anxious, and Morgan could see the scars left by George Foyet lurking just underneath his skin. Hotch knew more than anyone what Reid was going through right now. Reid snatched up one of the files on Harmon.

"There has to be something here," he said, his tone clipped and businesslike. "Does he own property out of town? Could it be under another name, did he inherit anything?"

"Reid, let's just take a minute to…" Hotch began. He didn't get far.

"No, I won't  _take a minute_ , Hotch, that minute might be one Emily doesn't have! I can't sit here and look at these  _files_  while he's doing who knows what to her, so let's find him before he kills her!"

"Reid…" Morgan began, but he didn't even get as far as Hotch had gotten.

"He must have had a vehicle ready to get her out of the area so fast. Where was it parked? Behind the property, in the field? Why is nobody thinking of these things? Who is figuring this stuff out? Who is out there  _looking for her?_ " His voice rose steadily during this outburst until he was shouting. He broke off abruptly, planted his hands on the conference table and leaned over them for a moment, breathing hard. "Goddammit!" he exclaimed, as his hands lashed out and swept papers and files off the table to the floor. He turned his back and took a step away, one hand on his forehead.

Everyone just stared at him. Morgan's chest felt tight.  _Jesus, kid. This isn't going to work. You can't do this._  He looked at Hotch, then Rossi, and saw the same knowledge on their faces, as well as how much they hated it.

Reid sighed, his arm falling to his side. He turned around, shaking his head. "I can't work this case," he said, his voice sounding lifeless and flat. "I'm too emotional."

Hotch nodded, and Morgan saw his relief that he wouldn't have to order Reid off the case. "Good."

Reid snorted brief, bitter laughter. "It's not good. Nothing about it is good. You think I want to step aside? What does it say about me I if I just walk away and let other people look for  _my_  wife?"

"It says that you're smart," Rossi said. "And that you trust your teammates."

Reid shuffled to the edge of the table, his head bowed. He took a deep breath, and when he looked at them again, there was a terrible kind of resignation on his face. He met each of their eyes in turn. "We've all been through a lot together," he said, quietly. "I'd trust any of you with my life. I hope you understand what it is that I'm trusting you with now." He turned and walked out of the conference room, shoulders hunched.

Hotch turned to them. "We don't eat, we don't sleep, we don't have another thought for anything else until we find Emily. We clear on that?" Everyone nodded. "Good. You know what to do."

JJ came over to his side. "I've got Harmon's parents' address. You ready to go?"

Morgan sighed. "Gimme a minute," he said, glancing toward where Reid had gone. She nodded. Morgan steeled himself, then followed after Reid.

He found him standing in the courtyard, arms crossed, head bowed. Morgan just stood there a few paces behind, waiting.

"Tell me why I can't work on this case," Reid finally said, sounding hollowed-out, his voice echoing around inside him until it finally found its way out.

"You know why, kid."

"Tell me again. Explain it to me in a way that'll make sense."

Morgan walked around him until he could see his face. "Harmon's taken someone you love. You're desperate to find her. You can look at the files, examine the clues, but you'll be so anxious to find the answer that you might jump to the wrong conclusion. Make an assumption that isn't supported. You could point us in the wrong direction. That won't help her."

"I could point you in the  _right_  direction," he said. "My job on this team is to see what the rest of you don't."

"Your job right now is to get through this. You're a victim too here, Spencer." Reid's head came up at Morgan's use of his first name. "You can't think straight or focus on the profile with Emily in danger. If your places were reversed, I'd be telling her the same thing."

Reid let out a burst of surprised laughter. "Our places should be reversed. Aren't I the designated agent-in-jeopardy around here? Why her?" He lifted his wet eyes to Morgan's. "Why'd he take her?" He sounded young, and confused, and frightened. Morgan's resolve solidified.  _I am not gonna let this happen, Reid. I am not gonna let this guy hurt her._

"We're gonna find out, my man. And we're gonna get her back. I promise." Morgan took a step closer. "Hey," he said. Reid looked up. "You're just about my best friend in the world, you know that?"

Reid's eyes widened a little bit. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. I wouldn't lie to you, kid. I'm not gonna let you down. There's a roomful of people in there, smart people who care about Emily, and care about you. Nobody's losing anybody, not now, not on my watch."

"I believe you."

"Good." Morgan reached out and pulled Reid into a hug, slapping his back. "It's gonna be okay, got it?" He felt Reid nod. He pulled back and looked him in the face. "You ought to go back to the hotel and try to rest."

"No, I can't do that. If I can't work the case I can at least be handy if – I don't know, if someone needs a map analyzed or a code broken."

"Okay. Take your time. Me and JJ are going to go talk to Harmon's parents. No one's cutting you out of the loop here, you know."

Reid nodded. "I know."

"Okay." Morgan clapped him on the shoulder. "You coming back in?"

"In a second. I need to call Emily's mother. O'Neill said I could use his office if I needed privacy."

Morgan nodded and headed back into the police station, leaving Reid standing in the night air. Determination replaced the empathy on his face. He wondered if Harmon knew what kind of punishment he'd earned for himself the minute he'd taken one of them.

* * *

Hotch saw Morgan come back into the conference room; Reid wasn't with him. This wasn't going to be easy. It wasn't as though Reid was the only one with an emotional attachment to Emily Prentiss. They all had a connection, a strong one. And Reid might say he couldn't work the case, but Hotch couldn't imagine that he'd go quietly back to his hotel room and sit there waiting. No, he'd stick around, listening in and interjecting thoughts and opinions. In short, he'd be underfoot. Then it'd be up to Hotch to somehow tell him that he was making their jobs harder, and that he couldn't be part of their efforts to locate and rescue Emily.

He didn't have to imagine what Reid was going through, he knew. He had listened to his wife being shot, had heard her die. The road back from that had been long and difficult and it wasn't over yet. Two years and he still grieved for her, still thought of her, still ached for what could have been and agonized over what he could have done differently that could have saved her life. He didn't want that for Reid, and it was all the more tragic that they were still so new together, still discovering each other in their marriage, with everything ahead of them. Emily was in the hands of a man who'd already killed one person who got in his way. Hotch could all too easily put himself in Reid's position, which was why he had to be careful not to do just that lest he lost all objectivity himself. He had to stay in control, stay focused, if they were going to keep Emily from suffering Haley's fate.

JJ was up as soon as Morgan returned, an air of taking-care-of-business about her. "Let's go, Harmon's parents don't live far from here," she said. Morgan nodded. Garcia was deep in searches, Rossi was just as deep into the files. They were two agents down and the clock kept ticking away.

"Where is he?"

Everyone stopped. The new voice that had just spoken cut through their scattered thoughts like a knife through butter. They all turned to the doorway, where Jason Gideon was standing and staring at them. "Jason," Hotch began.

"Where is he?" Gideon repeated.

Morgan kept heading for the door. "He's in O'Neill's office calling Prentiss's mother. Come on, JJ." He walked past Gideon, JJ following along.

Gideon watched them go, then turned back to Hotch. "I heard it on the scanner. Who's this Kurt Harmon?"

"The man we think shot Elle," Hotch said. "He's a mastermind. We suspect he's been using Nathan Harris as a proxy to commit murder. Harmon thought Elle knew something and killed her. We're not sure what she actually knew."

"He took Emily? Why? It makes no sense."

"Jason – you're not an agent of the Bureau."

"I want to help," he said, holding Hotch's eyes. "It's the least I can do."

Hotch sighed. "I'm not the one you should talk to about that."

Gideon looked away, his jaw tight. "Has he recused himself?"

"Yes. He's not happy about it."

Gideon nodded. "Excuse me." He turned and walked down the hall. Hotch watched him go.

"Hotch?" Garcia asked.

"What?" he said, still staring at the spot where Gideon had been standing moments before.

"Shouldn't we let him help if he wants to?"

He sighed. "Depends on why he wants to help."

* * *

Reid hung up his phone in O'Neill's office, offered to him for the privacy required for these calls he now had to make. That had been the single hardest conversation of his life. Talking Elizabeth Prentiss out of getting on the next plane to Dallas had taken all the persuasive skills he possessed. The last thing he needed was her around, demanding updates every fifteen minutes and dogging his every step. He'd finally convinced her by appealing to her sense of practicality. The team would function more efficiently if they didn't have to worry about her, too.

_The team. Which at the moment, does not include me._

He raked a hand through his hair. His left ring finger felt very naked without his wedding ring. Why had Harmon taken it? And his pocket watch, too? They couldn't be trophies, Harmon hadn't killed him, the assault on him had been a matter of necessity. He had to have a use in mind for them. Something to do with Emily, perhaps, but he couldn't imagine what.

_Emily. I'm so sorry. I let him take you. I should have been faster, smarter – if I'd been better, you'd be here now instead of somewhere with him. You deserve a better man than me at your side. Why you picked me, I'll never know._

The door to O'Neill's office opened up. Reid got to his feet, stunned to see Gideon standing there.

"I want to help," he said. No greeting, no word of acknowledgment that they both knew Reid had avoided him at Elle's service.

Reid's first instinct was to defer, as he always had. To look to Gideon for guidance, and to find out how to feel and act. But he didn't need that now, and Gideon had no guidance to offer him. "You want to help?" he said.

Gideon nodded. "If you'll let me."

Reid came out from behind O'Neill's desk and headed for the door. "Then find my wife," he said. He walked past Gideon and left him there, not waiting for a response.


	22. Chapter 22

_Forth Worth, Texas  
Friday, 9:30 pm – 2.5 hours missing_

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* * *

_  
_

 

The drive to Fort Worth was tense and silent. JJ sat in the passenger seat, going over in her mind how she'd approach the Harmons. Morgan was driving faster and more recklessly than usual, his hands gripping the wheel tight enough to make the tendons in his forearms stand out.

JJ checked her watch. "Damn, the time goes fast. He's had her over two hours now."

"Time flies whether you're having fun or not," Morgan said, his tone grim.

"I don't know if I'm more worried about Emily or Spence," she said.

Morgan grit his teeth. "If she dies, we're losing two agents."

"She's tough. She'll find a way to survive." JJ couldn't bear to consider the alternative. Not Emily. Not her friend. Not that girl of privilege who'd clawed her way through a boys' club to get where she wanted, who'd quit a job she loved rather than play politics, who took down men twice her size at combat class, who cooked a mean stir-fry and hid her nerdy tendencies behind her glamour-girl looks. Not Emily, who so deserved a good man in her life but had been disappointed in all of them until a skinny genius had snuck in before anyone noticed. JJ had gotten used to seeing her happy, to seeing both of them happy.

Not Emily.  _Please God, not her._

"I just feel like we're spinning our wheels," Morgan said. "We should be focusing on finding Nathan Harris."

"It's Harmon we need to get to know."

"But Harris might know where Harmon took her."

"People are looking for Nathan. This is what we have to do now."

He hit the wheel with one fist. "I want a door to kick down, dammit."

JJ nodded. "I know the feeling." She pointed up the block. "There it is." Morgan pulled into the Harmons' driveway. It was a nice house in a pleasant neighborhood, nothing to indicate that it might have bred a monster.

The house looked discouragingly dark. They sat in the SUV and looked at it for a moment. "Doesn't look like anyone's home," JJ said.

"We should try, anyway." They got out and walked up the sidewalk. Unsurprisingly, their doorbell ring went unanswered.

JJ sighed. "Well, it is Friday night. People who are not us do have lives. We'll have to come back in the morning. They're likely to be home on a Saturday." She looked at him. "Maybe we should leave a note or our cards so they know we're coming. Or call and leave a voicemail."

"No. I don't want them pre-warned that we're on our way. I don't want to give them a chance to circle the wagons and get their story straight."

"Their story? These people aren't suspect in any crime."

"Their son is. They might try to shield him. I want to catch them off guard. We'll come back tomorrow."

Dispirited, they trudged back to the SUV, got in, and headed back to Dallas.

* * *

_Dallas, Texas  
Friday, 11:30 pm – 4.5 hours missing_

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* * *

_  
_

 

Gideon was standing at the board, looking at the crime scene photos of Elle's death and the alleged victims of Nathan Harris. He'd read the files on Harmon and had been staring at the board for a good half an hour.

Hotch and Garcia were in the middle of a painstaking search on Harmon's financials, trying to ferret out where he might have taken Prentiss. It was mind-numbing at times, combing through bank statements, ATM withdrawals, credit card purchases and job information.

Hotch wasn't sure where Reid was. The last time he saw him, he'd been sitting in the lounge where the officers of this precinct sometimes talked to victims and family members. Just sitting there, staring into space. Hotch wished he could help them with this background search. Reid could read all these statements and reports much faster than he and Garcia could.

Garcia made a frustrated noise. "What?" Hotch said.

"Oh, just the unexplained. Something doesn't add up. I've got photos the police sent me of Harmon's workstations at his house, and it's too simplistic. This guy was an expert in computer hardware, he should not have a Mickey Mouse system like this. And his bills from his ISP indicate that he used to pay for significant bandwidth, more than a typical user, even a hacker, would need. This system wouldn't support that kind of datastream. I don't know what he's using it for."

"You said  _used_  to pay?"

"Yeah. About a year ago he stopped paying for it. I bet he found a way to get it on his own. He might have even set up a satellite. If so, that sure isn't at the house."

"Another setup offsite, maybe," Hotch said. "If he has a secondary home base, he may have a more sophisticated system there."

"This amount of bandwidth suggests he has his own server. I can't find any purchase records for it and I don't know where it is."

"If we find that server, we may find Emily."

"I'm on it, sir. But if he is using a satellite linkup – we're screwed. I can hack a satellite feed, but he could use it to bounce his signal around so we won't know if he's next door or in deepest darkest Africa."

Morgan and JJ came back in. Hotch perked up – new information. "What did you find out?"

"Nothing. The Harmons weren't home. We'll have to go back in the morning." Hotch nodded, disappointed.

Gideon suddenly turned from the board. "I know how Harmon was manipulating Nathan Harris," he said.

"He was sleeping with him," Reid said. Everyone turned to see him standing in the doorway that led to the back of the station. He walked slowly forward, his face calm. "I bet it started when Harmon was his professor."

"Harmon's gay?" Morgan said.

Reid shook his head. "Orientation has nothing to do with it. He's pragmatic. He'll choose the most effective means of forging dependence in his victims." He stopped in front of the board and turned to face the rest of the team. "The first question is, why Emily? Why did he take her so specifically? He had no personal connection with her. I don't mean to sound egocentric, but I think this must have been about me. Or, to be more accurate, it was about Nathan Harris and his connection to me."

"Why?" JJ asked.

"Think about it. You're Harmon, in the backyard of his house. Two FBI agents are in front of you, their backs to you. Which one do you attack first?"

"The one closest to you," Morgan said.

"Exactly. That would have been me. Instead, he shot his Taser past me to hit Emily, a harder shot to make, I might add. The only reason I can think of to do that is that he wanted me to see her go down before he took me out. And if this is personal? The most logical conclusion is that he took her to punish me."

"He didn't have a personal connection with you, either," Morgan said.

"Yes, he did," Reid said. "Through Nathan. Nathan wrote to me once, you know. About a year ago. He told me that sometimes, the only thing keeping him from killing was the thought that I'd be disappointed in him. I tried to write back but the letter was returned to me. Harmon got Nathan to give in to his basest desires by supplanting the voice of conscience, which Nathan had taken as my voice, with his own. Look at these wounds," he said, pointing to the wrist slashes on Nathan's victims. "Even as he's doing what he knows he mustn't do, he's expressing his self-hatred and his guilt over his own actions. So why didn't he kill himself? Because of Harmon. He'd created a dependence in Nathan that gave him purpose, or a connection he couldn't sever. I can only think of one way Harmon could have gotten such complete control over Nathan in so short a time. Sex, approval, affection – validation." He sighed. "I think Elle found out about Harmon and Nathan, and that's what caused her to break it off with him. She may have even found out what Harmon was encouraging Nathan to do. I think Harmon resented that I still had influence over Nathan, any influence at all. This is a man whose entire sense of self is based around his ability to manipulate others to act out his own dark desires. It must have really frustrated him that after all he did to get Nathan under his control, my voice was still strong enough in him to let him resist Harmon's wishes." He turned back to the board, crossing his arms over his chest. "I bet that he knew everything about me before we ever set foot in this city. And when he knew we were closing in on him, he struck out at the symbol of his failure to control Nathan. But he couldn't take me. That would be too easy. I'd come between Harmon and Nathan. He had to do worse. So he took Emily instead. He knew what that would do to me. He knows me. Somehow, he knows me." He looked at Gideon. "Anything to add, Jason?"

Gideon was staring at Reid like he'd never seen him before. "No, I think that about covers it, Spencer."

Reid nodded. "We will find Harmon when we find Nathan Harris." He took a breath and headed for the door.

"Reid," Morgan said. He paused and turned back, his face still wearing that blank mask of disconnection. Everyone in the room was looking at him, shellshocked. "How'd you get all that?"

Reid looked around at them. "You can stop me from working this case, but you can't stop me from thinking." He turned to go again, but his phone rang before he could head for the door. He stopped and answered it. "Reid." He looked up at the team. "Yeah, Anderson. Hang on." He thumbed the speaker on his phone so they could all hear. "Go ahead, we're listening."

"Uh…you got a package here, Dr. Reid. The return address says it's from Elle Greenaway."

Everyone exchanged stunned looks. "Open it, Anderson," Reid said.

"You sure, sir? Isn't that a federal offense, opening someone's mail?"

"Just open the damn package," he snapped.

They heard paper ripping. "It's a flash drive. And a note."

"Read us the note," Hotch said.

"It says, 'Reid, do me a favor and put this in a drawer. I'm onto something here and I'm worried about my system being compromised, I want to backup my files someplace safe where they can't be hacked. I'll explain everything later. It was good to see you in Dallas. I'll call you soon and tell you what's going on. Elle."

Reid looked a little green around the gills. Garcia's face was creased with misery, and Morgan had his eyes shut. "I should have asked her what was going on," Reid said, his voice hoarse. "Why didn't I just ask her?"

"Anderson, give that flash drive to Kevin Lynch," Garcia said. "Tell him to plug it into my system, I'll access it from here."

"Will do," Anderson said, and then he was gone. Garcia went back to her workstation.

"Did she know Harmon was on to her?" Morgan said.

"But how much did she know about what he was up to?" Rossi said. "She couldn't have suspected that he might try to kill her, or she wouldn't have let him in to her house."

"It's a long leap from finding out your boyfriend is sleeping with a younger man to suspecting he's a murderer," JJ said.

"Guys," Garcia said, "check this out."

They crowded around her and watched as she scrolled through the files on Elle's flash drive. Photos, surveillance photos, hundreds of them. All of them featured Kurt Harmon. Driving, parking…getting out…meeting Nathan Harris…kissing Nathan Harris…disappearing into Nathan's apartment. "She knew that much, then," Hotch said.

"Hey," Morgan said, looking around the room. "Where's Gideon?"

Everyone turned to look. Gideon was nowhere in sight.

* * *

_Somewhere in Texas  
Saturday, 1:00 a.m. – 6 hours missing_

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* * *

_  
_

 

When Emily Prentiss opened her eyes, she was tempted to close them again. She supposed it was too much to hope for that this was just a bad dream.

But it wasn't. She groaned as she tried to move her limbs. Everything hurt. She tried to raise her hand to her head but it was stopped partway there. She looked down at herself and found that she was lying on a cot, shackled to the wall behind her with a long chain to her left wrist. No, not shackled  _to_ the wall… _through_  it. The chain passed through a small hole and was, presumably, tethered to something on the other side. She gave it an experimental tug but it didn't give at all. She got up and tested its length; the chain was long enough to let her move around but not long enough to reach the door opposite the cot.

She looked around. She was in a plain white room with cinderblock walls. Another cot was across the room from her next to the door, and an old metal desk that had seen better days sat in the corner. One window, high near the ceiling, was covered with pebbled plastic slats. There was a curtain hung vertically on the other side of her cot. She peeked around to see a toilet and a sink; she could reach it by pulling to the end of her chain.

_He must have Tasered me. I felt it hit my neck._

_Where the hell am I?_  She looked around.  _No one else here. Did he take Spencer, too? He could be in another room._  She suspected she was here alone. Harmon would have known he didn't have much time and he couldn't have carried two fully grown adults at once. He'd clearly meant to get her. He'd shot the Taser past Reid to hit her.

It was still dark out. Her body was telling her that it was very late, after midnight, but she couldn't be sure. Her watch was gone, as was her jewelry and her wallet and badge from out of her pockets. Something felt weird, too – she put her hand to her chest.  _Damn. Bastard took the underwires out of my bra!_  Not that they would have helped – the shackle on her wrist was of the medieval variety, she could never have picked it with an underwire.

She looked at her bare ring finger and sighed. As she and Reid had stalked across the back yard, she'd realized that she'd never gotten her wedding band and engagement ring back from him. It had felt like bad luck to be sneaking around a suspect's backyard without them on, but she couldn't very well stop him in the middle of the raid and ask for her rings back. Now she wished she had. Staring at that bare finger, a paler band around the knuckle where the rings had lived for the past year, made her throat close up.

Fear crept up her spine but she controlled it. What did Harmon want with her? It didn't make any sense. If he'd killed Elle, that was expedient. It was for a reason. She'd found out something, he'd been threatened, he'd killed her. Taking Emily served no immediately obvious purpose. Maybe he wanted to interrogate her.

She pushed away the thought of dying here. She couldn't dwell on that now, it would paralyze her. She had to think clearly, and she couldn't let herself feel the terror of being killed by Harmon, of pain and maybe torture and of having her life cut short, of never seeing her family and friends again – of never seeing her husband again, the man she had meant to grow old with, who she'd looked forward to spending long years with before death finally took one of them. Not now, but far in the future.

_Okay, let's not go there right now. No thinking about Spencer or JJ or Hotch or your mother or anyone else. Focus on your situation, Lola. You're a profiler. So profile._

There wasn't much to work with in this blank canvas of a room. Harmon must have brought her to a hideaway somewhere, a place where he came to – to do what? Kill people? He didn't do that, as far as they knew, except for Elle.

So he's – hiding out. Somewhere. He's got something to hide. A cache of automatic weapons? A porn dungeon? Money, drugs, illegal DVD bootlegs?

She sighed, letting her head fall back against the cinderblocks. Right now, he had  _her_  to hide. And she hoped her team would have better luck profiling Harmon than she was having. The thing she hated the most in the world was helplessness, and Harmon had sure forced her into that. There was nothing she could do here. No contact with Harmon, no way to contact the outside world, shackled to the wall like a harem girl and caught like a fly in amber. It rankled and it made her fear harder to control, because she couldn't do much to help herself.

Tears sprang to the corners of her eyes, unbidden.  _Please, don't let him have hurt Spencer. I couldn't take it if something happened to him. Please let him be out there looking for me. If anybody can find me, he can._

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* * *

_  
_

 

_Dallas, Texas  
Saturday, 12:30 a.m. – 5.5 hours missing_

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* * *

_  
_

 

Aaron Hotchner was furious. No,  _livid._  Gideon came waltzing back in during a crisis, demanded to help, then went off on his own like some kind of lone crusader. Bullock told them that Gideon had asked for a ride to Kurt Harmon's house. He hadn't said why.

"You shouldn't be surprised," Rossi said from the passenger seat.

"If he can't work within our normal operating guidelines then he'd be more helpful staying home."

"He's working out his guilt."

"He can work it out somewhere else when one of my agents hasn't been kidnapped by a murderer." Hotch didn't like the edge in his voice, but his calm was being stressed to the breaking point. He was worried about Emily, not to mention Reid, and his own fear of losing a friend was getting harder and harder to push away. "He knew we were going to Harmon's house once crime scene had finished there. Profiling his house and possessions is absolutely essential."

Rossi nodded. "I guess he couldn't wait."

They pulled up to Harmon's house. Police cars and crime scene vehicles were still on the scene, but the techs appeared to be packing up. The officer on scene greeted them as they walked up the driveway. "Your colleague's in there," he said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder.

"Thanks," Hotch said. He and Rossi went inside and found Gideon in Harmon's living room, looking at the pictures on the walls. He turned as they entered.

"This man's house tells us something about him," he said.

"We know that, Jason," Hotch said. "That's why we were planning on coming here later, after crime scene was finished."

"They're finished."

"You can't just go off on your own like that. You didn't tell anyone you were leaving, you just…"

"I don't work for you, Aaron. I don't work for the Bureau. Right now I work for Spencer."

"Then I think you should leave," Hotch said. "You said it yourself a hundred times. We can't do our jobs from a place of personal investment. Our focus has to be clear."

"My focus is very clear."

"Why are you here, Jason?" Hotch said, letting his anger come through in his voice. "Are you trying to prove something to us? To him? Do not even think of making this about you. This is about Emily, and how we're going to find her."

"That's what I'm trying to do. Find her," Gideon said, his voice calm, as if Hotch's remonstrations were of no consequence. "I need to do this for them. I failed my son, I failed you, I failed Spencer. I will not fail Emily. Do you want my help, or not?"

Hotch sighed, and decided to let it go – for now. "What have you found?"

Gideon started to pace, rubbing his hands together. "Look at the placement of the furniture. Away from the walls, tightly grouped. You can see every window and door from Harmon's chair," he said, pointing to a stylish Eames-style chair. "The TV is concealed when not in use. That's something women do, and men who are careful about their perception as high-minded aesthetes. The things most people use for common entertainment aren't visible, but hidden away. Nothing personal, no family photos, no framed college diplomas, no food stored where it can be seen. This man doesn't want to be seen, by anyone, except on his own terms. No, this man is a watcher," he said. "He enjoys seeing his effect on others. He loves the feeling of control he gets from observing those who aren't aware they're being watched." He led them into Harmon's den/office and pointed to a collection of cameras and lenses on a nearby desk. "He photographs people from a distance. He doesn't want to be perceived, but he wants in to their lives."

"He's a voyeur," Rossi said.

"It's more than that. It's deeper. His file shows him to be a man who wants his own will done, but he doesn't want to get his hands dirty. That's why he manipulates others, they're his proxies in the world. Their dark desires are his. They do the things he wishes he could do, but he fears scrutiny and risk. He fears being known, even by those he's closest to. He doesn't want anyone to know he harbors secret darkness within. He's become a master at sensing and teasing out the secrets of others. He can become whatever they need to fulfill their dark wishes."

"If he convinced Nathan Harris to murder those boys," Rossi said, "he wouldn't be content just that Nathan had killed."

Gideon shook his head. "He'd need to see it."

"But he wouldn't go along with him when he killed," Hotch said, a picture forming in his mind. "That'd be too risky. That'd be exposing his own desires."

"If he didn't go along, and he'd need to see…" Rossi said.

Hotch nodded, getting out his phone. "Yeah." He dialed Bullock.

"Bullock here."

"Detective? It's Agent Hotchner. We need a search warrant for Nathan Harris's house. We're looking for videocameras, recording equipment of any kind. And we need to get his computer to Garcia so she can look for videos or images of Nathan's kills."

"You got it, Agent."

Hotch hung up. "Garcia's going to be busy, what with Harmon's computer and now Nathan's."

"Harmon won't have kept anything incriminating on his home system," Gideon said. "It'll be on the server she thinks he has, wherever that is." He sighed. "The more I find out about Harmon, the more I fear for Emily."


	23. Chapter 23

_Dallas, Texas  
Saturday, 7:00 a.m. – 12 hours missing_

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_

 

Penelope Garcia was taking a page from Reid's playbook and loading up her coffee with sugar to keep herself awake.

Somehow it was dawn, and Emily was still not here. It hardly seemed possible. Another day couldn't break without her here. Garcia stirred her coffee vigorously, battling fear and anxiety with that age-old weapon: caffeine.

The night had, impossibly, gone by with both dizzying speed and impatient sluggishness. The warrant to search Nathan's house had sent most of the team to his apartment for a good chunk of the night, doing their profiling thing. She'd spent the dark hours combing through Kurt Harmon's past and his financial records. Anytime now, the DPD would be bringing her Nathan Harris's computer, so she was taking a quick break before she had to get back to work.

It was a working break, though. She had a genius to take care of. Emily would want her sweetie looked after, and Garcia didn't need to be asked.

She found Reid in the lounge that had become his  _de facto_  office. Normally she imagined the police would be using it too, but everyone seemed to have gotten the memo that this was Reid's spot, so nobody else was coming in.

Her heart broke a little at the sight of him, sitting in the corner of the couch looking frail and jumpy, like he had when she'd first met him. He was staring down at Emily's rings sitting in the palm of his hand. His cell phone was in his other hand. She sat down next to him and rubbed her hand across his shoulders. "How are you holding up, sweet boy?" she said.

He glanced at her, then pocketed the rings again. His other hand was still fiddling with his phone. "I don't know if I should call anyone else. I called her mother."

"Who else would you call?" she asked.

"Maybe Deb, our neighbor. She and Emily are friends. She usually picks up our mail when we're out of town. I don't know if Emily called her to tell her we were coming here from Seattle. She won't think anything of us still being gone, but – maybe she should know…" He trailed off again.

Garcia didn't know what to say to that. "I've finished going through Elle's flash drive. Looks like she'd been following Harmon after they broke up. I don't know how she found out about Nathan in the first place, though."

"Probably by accident. Harmon wouldn't have been careless but Nathan might have been." He shook his head. "She tailed him, she photographed him. He must have found out. That's why he killed her."

"Well, they're bringing Nathan's computer here for me to look through. Gideon thinks he might have taken video or photos of his kills for Harmon." Reid didn't react to this. She plucked the phone from his hand and replaced it with her own fingers. "We're gonna get your girl back safe and sound, my lamb."

He nodded. "I know. I trust all of you, don't think I don't. I just hate this. Sitting here doing nothing."

"You're not doing nothing. You're helping the rest of us do our jobs by staying out of the way. How many times have we said the same thing to the families of vi – of people who need our help?"

He looked at her and smiled a little. "Thanks."

"For what?"

"For not saying 'victim.'"

"Let us do what we do. Wonder Team Powers, activate."

He nodded. "I know. It's just hard when it's usually my job, too." He stared down at their linked hands for a moment, then a smile stole over his face and he chuckled a little.

Garcia cocked her head. "What?"

"I don't know why, but I was just thinking about the bridal shower you and JJ threw for her at the house."

Garcia grinned. "That was a thrown-together party if ever there was one. You guys spoiled the plans by eloping, so it ended up being a post-bridal shower."

"Morgan was trying to dig a firepit in the yard and it kept collapsing and burying his shoes."

"I forgot to buy helium so all my balloons were sad and droopy."

Reid was grinning now, too. "Emily was trying to help and you guys kept shooing her away. You remember when that delivery guy came by?"

"Oh yes! He saw us in the yard and walked around. He had some wedding present for Emily, from one of her mom's friends or something."

"He asked for Mrs. Reid," he said, shaking his head in amusement at the memory. "And Emily said 'Oh, there's a mistake, that's the wrong address. She lives in Nevada.'"

Garcia laughed out loud. "We all just stared at her until she realized what she'd said. She sputtered and stammered and kind of went 'Uh…I mean…that is…I'm Mrs. Reid.'"

"Then she was all 'Well, nobody's ever called me that before!' Indignant, like she thought I'd be offended or something."

"Aww, Reid. A lesser guy might have been," she said.

The smile drained off his face. She could see his jaw clenching. "Garcia," he said, sounding hoarse.

"It's all right. You can cry a little if you want, it's just you and me. That brave face you've been putting on doesn't fool me."

"I can't. I might not stop." He met her eyes, and the fear in his almost took her breath away. "If she dies…"

"No one's dying here, okay? She's gonna be fine."

"There just won't be much left of me," he whispered, blinking fast.

Garcia felt a tear escape her own eye and slide down her cheek. "Oh, honey," she murmured, pulling his head to her shoulder. He let out a long, shaky breath and let her. She wrapped her arm around him and rubbed his back. "We are gonna find her."

He rested his head against her for a moment, then straightened up again, his face still dry. "I'm okay," he said.

"Maybe you should try to get some rest."

He shook his head. "I'll rest when she's safe."

* * *

_Saturday, 8:00 am – 13 hours missing_

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* * *

_  
_

 

Morgan was tense. They were in a holding pattern. Nathan Harris's computers had just arrived and Garcia was busy hooking everything up so she could start going through them. Nathan himself was still stubbornly refusing to be found – the team and the DPD had woken up practically everyone he'd ever met and no one had the slightest idea where he might be. Morgan himself had been through the guy's  _trash_  in an effort to glean some clues, and all he'd found out was that Nathan ate way too many Hot Pockets to be healthy.

Garcia had been over Kurt Harmon's home system with a fine-toothed comb and found nothing. Rossi was at McKinniss talking to some of Harmon's co-workers the police had rounded up. Morgan and JJ were waiting for it to be an appropriate hour to go interview Harmon's parents, while Hotch went back over the background information they'd gotten on him. Hoping for something new to spark, some new idea to come up.

Gideon was staring at the reports on Nathan Harris's alleged victims. He'd been at it for hours. Morgan wondered what he was seeing, or what he hoped to see.

None of them had slept. Morgan was too wound up to be tired, and nobody else looked drowsy, either. Worry for his missing colleague ran around underneath his skin like tiny bugs, making him itch for something to do, someone to arrest, somewhere to go.

_She could already be dead._  He didn't want to think that, but the thought refused to be banished. If that were the case, he didn't care to imagine what it would do to this team, let alone what it would do to Reid.

As if Morgan's thoughts had summoned him, Reid wandered in. Everyone kind of refocused on him, not speaking, just acknowledging his presence. Morgan felt a little ill at how haggard his friend looked. His eyes, deep-set and hooded on a normal day, were sunk deep in his skull and his skin was pasty. "How you doing, my man?" he said, aiming for conversational and hitting significantly off the mark.

Reid shrugged, as if he were too tired to even bother to formulate a polite reply. He looked over Gideon's shoulder at the dead bodies with their sliced wrists. For a few long moments, no one spoke.

"If he knows Harmon's in the wind, that's why he's run," Reid finally said, as if he were continuing a conversation that was already in progress.

Gideon nodded. "Absent such a powerful influence, his natural reluctance would return." He looked up at Reid, a question in his eyes. Reid nodded.

Gideon jumped up. "Detective!" he yelled. Bullock came careening in, looking like he might have been napping at his desk.

"What's happened?"

"You need to contact each of the jurisdictions where these boys were murdered," Gideon said, holding up the files. "Have the police there stake out the crime scenes, and especially their graves."

"Lookin' for what?"

Gideon glanced at Reid, who nodded again. "We think Nathan might show up at one of them. He's feeling remorse. He probably knows what Harmon's done and realizes he's been manipulated. He may have run to try and apologize to his victims for being weak."

Bullock took the files. "You got it. One of the murders was here in Dallas, I'll get right on that one now."

Gideon turned back toward the team. Reid sighed. "They'll find him at one of the sites," he said. He sounded very sure about that.

"I dunno, he's managed to stay out of sight so far," Morgan said.

"He's not trying to stay out of sight," Reid said. "He won't run. He'll probably give himself up when he sees the police. He wants to be punished because he knows he deserves it."

JJ came in, looking at her watch. "Morgan, let's go. It'll be after nine by the time we get to Fort Worth."

Morgan nodded and got up, then paused and looked back to where Reid was standing in the middle of the room, hands in his pockets, looking like a kid whose mom had forgotten to pick him up after soccer practice. His mind suddenly flashed on a story Reid had once told him, one of his worst memories. Left alone and tied to a goalpost, having to wander home late at night. His eyes must have looked then how they looked now.

"Go," Reid finally said.

Morgan nodded, and turned to catch up with JJ.

* * *

_Somewhere in Texas  
Saturday, 8:00 a.m – 13 hours missing_

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* * *

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Emily jerked awake from a fitful sleep. She knew, rationally, that she shouldn't deny herself sleep if she could get it. She'd need her mind as sharp as possible and her body rested if she was going to get herself out of this. But emotionally, it felt so wrong to lie down and have a nap when you were being held captive by a killer.

She sat up, sighing. She'd been having a sexy dream, too. Pity she had to wake up. She'd been in bed with Spencer back in the cabin where they'd spent the brief honeymoon they'd had. It had been so vivid. She'd felt his hands on her, the feeling of his skin against hers and his body in her arms. Then the action had moved to the outdoor hot tub, where the two of them had spent a good portion of their actual time at the cabin. She could recall the dream sensations of the heat of the water and the chill of the air around her, then it had started to snow and Spencer had pulled her across the tub onto his lap and kissed her. The ends of his hair were wet and curled up; she loved that.

She'd woken up just when it was getting good. Typical.

_Great. Now I'm half-asleep and horny, too. Hope Harmon doesn't pick this moment to come in and start barking at me._

She risked another glance around the corners of the room. She was pretty sure Harmon had to be watching her. No man who needed that much control could tolerate leaving her in here unobserved. And if he hoped to manipulate her, he'd want to monitor her mental state so he could pounce when she was at her least defended.

By now she was certain that she was here alone, except for Harmon, who may or may not be in the building. Everything was silent; she didn't hear anything, but that didn't mean he wasn't here. He might be asleep. He'd had a busy night, after all.

She got up and walked back and forth a few times, trying to keep the blood flowing. She wondered what the team was doing.

_They're having a nice hearty English breakfast and listening to soothing Celtic music, idiot. What do you think they're doing? They're trying to find you._

They'd be profiling Harmon. Looking for Nathan Harris. Going through Harmon's life searching for a place he might have taken her. She wasn't sure how long he'd driven to get her here. She'd woken up for the first time well after midnight, and it had been seven pm when they'd raided his house, so she might not even be in Texas anymore if he'd driven all that time. Or he could have driven around the block for four hours and she was in a building right behind the police department. There was no way to know.

She cocked her ears and listened. No traffic noise. No sounds of a city. In fact, it was eerily quiet. Birds chirping. Rustling trees. Very faint – her window wasn't the sort that opened. She wasn't in the city. And this building, it looked like some kind of shed, like for workers to use. Not much to go on.

And where was Harmon? Out buying supplies for their little camping trip here? Part of her was glad not to have seen him, but the other part needed to know where he was and what he wanted. She had to talk to him if she was going to profile him, and she had to profile him if she was going to beat him and get herself out of this.

* * *

_Fort Worth, Texas  
Saturday, 9:30 a.m. – 14.5 hours missing_

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* * *

_  
_

 

Their doorbell ring was answered by a middle-aged, well-turned-out woman. "Yes, can I help you?" she said, her face full of that instinctive nervousness that people always got when confronted with two official-looking people on their doorstep.

"Mrs. Harmon?"

"Yes?"

"I'm Agent Jareau, this is Agent Morgan. We're with the FBI." They both displayed their badges. "May we speak with you and your husband?"

"What's this about?" she said, clutching at the neck of her sweater.

"Can we come in?"

She hesitated. "All right."

She showed them into a living room, and after repeating the introductions with her husband, everyone sat. "Mr. and Mrs. Harmon, we're here because we have some questions about your son, Kurt."

"Kurt? Is he all right?" Mrs. Harmon said. JJ noted that Mr. Harmon didn't look surprised to have two federal agents in his living room asking questions about his son.

"Last evening, we served a warrant on Kurt's house in the course of an investigation into the death of a woman he'd been seeing. Kurt assaulted two federal agents and kidnapped one of them."

"Oh, dear Lord," Mrs. Harmon said, wilting against her husband's side.

"There must be some mistake," Mr. Harmon said, lifting his chin defiantly. JJ could tell it was a token protest.

"There's no mistake," Morgan said.

"I know this is difficult," JJ said, putting on her best sympathy voice. "But we need to ask you some questions about Kurt's childhood and his life in recent years. Any information you can give us will be helpful."

"You want us to help you put our son in jail?" Mrs. Harmon wailed.

"We need your help to save the life of the agent he's holding," Morgan said, his voice carefully controlled.

"Pardon me for saying this," JJ said, "but neither of you seem shocked that Kurt's been implicated in a crime."

Mr. Harmon looked up at them, his arm around his wife, who was weeping quietly, a handkerchief pressed to her face. "I've been dreading this for years," he said.

"Do you have any knowledge of any criminal activity Kurt's been involved in?" Morgan said.

"No. But…" He trailed off, looking down at his wife.

"Is this about your son Jake?" JJ asked, gently.

Harmon's head came up. "What do you know about Jake?"

"We know he was a year younger than Kurt, and that when he was sixteen, he ran away from home. He was found dead of an overdose some years later."

Harmon nodded, his face creasing into a rictus of sadness. "We had our two boys close together so they would each have a friend. We wanted them to be close, to support each other, to be there for each other." He smiled bitterly. "Every father envisions his sons together, a family that's close and loving."

"That wasn't what happened."

He shook his head. "Kurt didn't react well when we brought Jake home. He was jealous and resentful. We assumed he'd grow out of it. He was barely more than a baby himself, after all. But he didn't. He learned to hide it, because he knew we disapproved and he would be punished if he mistreated his brother. But it was there, in his eyes."

Mrs. Harmon spoke up, her voice clogged with tears. "Jake was such a sweet boy. So trusting. All he wanted was for Kurt to love him, to be his big brother. He'd give his new toys to Kurt to try and get him to like him."

"Kurt was so smart," Mr. Harmon went on. "Too smart for his own good, sometimes. It made him contemptuous of other people, who couldn't always keep up with him. Jake was smart, too, but Kurt made fun of him for wanting to get along with people, for wanting to be liked. We did everything we could to make sure Jake felt appreciated by us. That just made Kurt more resentful. He had all these achievements and successes, but Jake was still the one who got the attention."

"What happened to make Jake run away?" JJ asked.

Mr. Harmon sighed. "We never knew. Nothing that was unusual."

Morgan was looking at him closely. "But you suspected something."

Harmon met Morgan's eyes. "Kurt had a way with people. We used to joke that he could sell refrigerators to Eskimos. He had a quality. He was so charming. He could just make you believe things, even if you knew they weren't true. Sometimes it was a little – spooky."

"Mr. Harmon, what happened to Jake?" JJ asked.

Harmon's eyes were haunted. "He talked him into it. Kurt did. Somehow…he made him think he had to run away."

* * *

It was nearly eleven when JJ and Morgan arrived back at the precinct. "What did you find?" Hotch asked.

"Plenty," Morgan said. "Harmon's parents are convinced that he talked his brother into running away from home. They don't have any knowledge of anyone else he's manipulated, but they sure seem to think he's capable of it."

"They don't have much contact with him," JJ said. "They didn't know who Elle was, they didn't even know where he lived. They had no idea where he might have taken Emily. They did see him once, a few months ago. It was the first time he'd come by in several years. It was a family gathering and he surprised them by showing up. While he was there, they said a young man came to the house looking for him. We showed them a picture of Nathan Harris and they confirmed that it was him. They didn't have any idea of where Kurt might have take Emily."

Morgan took over. "They said Harmon and Harris argued in the front yard, but they couldn't tell what was being said. Then Harris drove away. Harmon played it off, saying it was a co-worker taking something too personally from his review."

Hotch nodded. "If Harris was that careless, that could be how Elle found out about them. By accident. All right. Morgan, I need your help going over the DPD's notes from the canvass of Harmon's neighborhood."

Morgan joined Hotch at the conference table while JJ went to Garcia's rapidly-expanding corner workstation. "How's it going here?" she asked.

"I'm finding my way around Nathan's labyrinthine social networking life and his really weird operating system. It's like he took Ubuntu, put it in a VitaMix and hit 'frappe.' I'm just about to go hunting for the hidden files I know he has on here."

JJ sat down next to her. If Garcia did find video or still imagery of Nathan Harris's kills, she'd need some moral support. "We need to get busy," Garcia said.

"What do you mean?"

"We're way behind if we want to pull off that anniversary party. It's coming up really soon now."

JJ sighed. "Garcia…"

"Shah! No arguments! We're planning it. Let's start now. There's absolutely no reason why we wouldn't throw a one-year anniversary party for our dear sweet friends who love each other so much. I mean, can you think of a reason we wouldn't do that for them?"

JJ shook her head. "No, I really can't."

"Okay, then. First question: surprise, or not?" Garcia was working as she talked. JJ had complete confidence in her ability to plan a party while doing five or six computer-related tasks at once.

"I'm thinking – surprise."

"Now you're talking. Where should we have it?"

"Umm…Morgan's house?"

"He's moving in two weeks. Flipping a new one."

"Oh. Okay. Well, we could have it at my house."

"Let's just have it at their house. I have a key, you have a key – it's not like we don't have access."

"That means somebody'll have to get them out of the house for the day so we can set up."

Garcia smirked. "I have already enlisted a very able co-conspirator for that very job."

JJ gaped at her. "If you'd already decided all this, why'd you bother asking me?"

"I know you like to feel like you're involved, sweetie," she said, pausing to pat JJ's knee.

"Thanks so much. Who's this conspirator?"

"Emily's mother. She's going to have them over for a brunch or some other thing they'll both hate. She promises to keep them well away from home for as long as we require."

JJ burst out laughing. "That's so cruel. Subject them to a whole day of watercress sandwiches and snobby conversation so we can throw them a party."

"That's why I think we definitely need to get a bounce house for the party."

She frowned. "A bounce house? Just for Henry and Jack? That's kind of extravagant."

"No, silly. For everybody! You're never too old for a bounce house."

JJ considered this. An image formed in her head of the wide backyard at Spence and Emily's house. Streamers, balloons – Rossi at the grill, Morgan mixing drinks, and Spence jumping around in the bounce house in his mismatched socks. She could see Emily laughing at him, then him pulling her in to join him. She could imagine kicking off her own shoes and climbing in, everyone's hair flying, trying to do a backflip like on a school friend's trampoline when she was a kid. She grinned. "I think that's a brilliant idea," she said.

But Garcia wasn't listening. "JJ – I think I found something."

* * *

Morgan crowded around the computer corner with everyone else. Garcia had compiled all the files she'd found and was ready to show them. "Okay. There were seven suspected murders, right? Well, I've got them. Still images, video footage – you want it, I got it."

"Show us the first one, Roy Barnes," Hotch said.

"Here's the video." Garcia queued up the file.

Everyone watched as the video began. A haze of quick images, then the camera was steadied. Whoever was filming this was nervous and scared; their breathing was very loud and fast in the microphone. Nathan (assuming it was he who'd shot the video) walked forward, then panned down until Roy Barnes' body was visible. It was lying where it had been found; Morgan recognized the location easily. He'd only spent hours staring at those photos.

"He looks like he was just killed," Morgan said. "The blood's still wet."

Hotch was frowning. "Why didn't he film the kill itself? He stunned them first with a blow to to the head, he could have filmed the stabbing."

"They're all like that, sir," Garcia said. "The video starts up as Nathan's walking back to the body." Her voice was subdued.

Gideon made a low rumbling sound. "Harmon would have wanted him to film as much of the kill as possible. If he couldn't film the act itself, at least the post-mortem parts of it. So why didn't he?"

"Maybe he wanted to keep that part for himself," Morgan said.

Rossi jumped in. "If that's true – he's resisted Harmon in more ways than one. He's refusing to give Harmon what he wants the most, a vicarious experience of the murder. He's only showing him what Nathan wants him to see."

Gideon was frowning. "That doesn't sound like the Nathan Harris I remember. He was passive, he deferred to authority. If Harmon had enough influence to get him to kill, filming it shouldn't have been an issue. We're missing something here."

"Guys," Garcia said, an edge of urgency coming into her voice. "I'm seeing file paths for this data. These files were streamed somewhere, probably to Harmon's system, and not his home system."

"His secondary location?" Hotch said.

"Maybe, I can't tell. But these are large files, a dedicated line or satellite linkup would sure speed things up."

"Can you use that to get into Harmon's real system?" Rossi asked.

"Maybe. Let me work on it."

Bullock came in and tossed some files to the table. "Got some stuff back from crime scene from Harmon's house."

"What did they find?" Hotch said, picking up a file.

"Found tire tracks behind the workshop. It backs up on the open country. Looks like he took off that way, but it's been powerful windy out there and the tracks are mostly erased after fifty feet or so. Either way seems he stashed a vehicle back there, took Agent Prentiss and was gone before anyone knew what had happened. But if there was any doubt that it was Harmon, there ain't now. Found his prints on the two-by-four he used to knock out Dr. Reid."

"He didn't wear gloves?" Morgan said. "That doesn't jibe with his caution."

Gideon shook his head. "He already knew that we were on to him. No use hiding his identity now."

"Found his prints on her gun and shield, too. Found bootprints, a man's, fresh in the dust in the workshop, too. Not that it matters, it ain't like we don't know who he is."

"Is he in his own car?" Morgan asked. He wasn't too hopeful of that. Harmon would never be that careless.

"Tracks we found in the field weren't from a Prius. He doesn't have another car registered to him, but one of the neighbors reported their pickup truck stolen earlier that night."

"Well, then we can put out…"

Bullock held up a hand. "We found it abandoned twenty miles from the house half an hour ago. He stashed a secondary vehicle and swapped, not the Prius, either. This guy planned this but good."

"Yeah, we're starting to get that impression," Rossi grumbled.

Bullock sighed. "How's Dr. Reid?"

Everyone exchanged glances. "Reid's tougher than he looks," Morgan said.

"Boy, I'll say. If it were me I'd be off blubberin in a corner. He's walkin round profilin' this guy and makin deductive leaps." His phone rang and he snatched it off his belt. "Bullock." He listened a moment. "Yeah?" he said, snapping his fingers to get everyone's attention. "Found him at the crime scene?" Morgan's heart skipped a beat. Nathan Harris? Bullock was still listening. "Yeah. All right, good. We'll be waiting." He snapped the phone shut. "Police in Midland found Nathan Harris at the site where Roy Barnes' body was found. He was just sitting there. Stretch was right – he gave himself up to the police. And they asked him where Harmon would have taken Agent Prentiss, and he said he didn't know. They're on their way with him now."

"How long until they get here?"

"Well, it's more'n a five hour drive, so the Rangers are gonna bring him. They got a plane like y'all got. Be here in less'n two, I'd guess, unless the Midland DA gives 'em trouble with the paperwork. Rangers can probably smooth that over."

Garcia made an excited squawking sound, drawing everyone's attention. "I got something!" she exclaimed. Everyone gathered around her again "All right, crimefighters," she said. "I used the streaming data from Nathan's computer to Harmon's to backtrack. Harmon covers his tracks but there wasn't as much security on Nathan's end. I was able to use that to ping through the satellite into Harmon's server."

"You got access?" Hotch said, sounding like he was afraid it was too good to be true.

"Yep. Now I'm just finding my way around. No wonder he needed his own server – he's got gigabytes of data streaming in here on a constant loop. There are six discreet feeds…" She looked up at Hotch. "My guess? This is a surveillance system of some kind."

Rossi frowned. "What's he surveilling?"

"Could be security for his hideout," Morgan said. "External monitoring cameras."

"But he's storing all this data," Garcia said. "He's keeping all the footage. He wouldn't need to do that if it were external security feeds, he'd just need to see if anyone was outside."

"Can you tap into the feeds without him knowing?" Rossi asked. "So we can see what he's seeing? If we can get a look at his hideout we might be able to figure out where he is."

"Yeah, just a sec," Garcia said, already on it. Her fingers flew over the keys. Morgan didn't even try to keep up with the windows opening and overlapping all over her screen. He couldn't believe she could, but he'd long since accepted it as fact. "Okay – I think I got it."

One of her other monitors was filled with six camera feeds. Morgan froze, and felt everyone else do the same. He heard JJ gasp.

Hotch's face had gone beyond grim and into some heretofore unknown realm of stoniness. "Morgan, get Reid. Now."

Three of the cameras looked into empty rooms, two of them showed doors to the exterior, but the sixth showed a room with a desk and two cots. Sitting on one of the cots was Emily Prentiss.


	24. Chapter 24

_Alexandria, Virginia  
eleven months ago_

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* * *

_  
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Emily kept glancing around the kitchen, like she was waiting for someone to say "cut." Like this wasn't real, not a real house but a set, not the utensils and the cutting board but props – not herself but an actress. This couldn't be her life. It was so – domestic.

She'd been feeling like that off and on all day, ever since she and Reid had arrived home from their hastily-planned four-day honeymoon at Rossi's Lake Tahoe cabin. Suddenly she'd look around and remember  _oh yeah, I'm a married lady now. Sadie, Sadie, married lady, that's me._

_And now you're in the kitchen making dinner while your…uh…_

_Come on. You can say the word._

_While your brand-new…_ husband _…is out in the living room – wait, what's he doing?_

"Spencer?" she called.

"What?" came his voice from the living room.

"What are you doing?"

"Reading the mail." Pause. "Why?"

_Because if you were sitting with your feet up having a beer I'd be forced to turn in my NOW membership card._

"Just wondering."

She heard him laugh, that high-pitched giggle he got when something struck him funny. His footsteps got closer until he appeared in the doorway, holding a letter. He leaned against the wall and looked at her, smirking a little. "I've been feeling it, too," he said.

"What?" she said, wide-eyed innocent.

"The weirdness. I mean, it shouldn't be weird, right? You've been living here for a few weeks."

"Right. Nothing's changed. Same old, same old," she agreed, nodding.

"Except everything's totally changed, and it's not just that my left hand is heavier. I feel different."

Emily smiled. "Me, too."

"I just don't know why right now. We got married…" He checked his watch. "Five days ago, but it wasn't weird until today."

"It's because we came back here today. The house is familiar and it's back to our regular lives, but – not quite."

He nodded. "I keep remembering it at odd moments. I'll be going about my business and suddenly it'll hit me again that I have a wife." He grinned.

Emily couldn't help but laugh. "What's that?" she said, nodding to the letter.

He sobered. "Oh. I got a letter from Owen Savage. He writes me every few months."

"You never told me that."

He shrugged. "It never came up."

"How is he?"

"He got his GED already, now he's on to electrical engineering. They're letting him take courses by correspondence from prison." He shook his head. "I know what he did. I just can't help hoping he can salvage something. I know what it was like for him." The doorbell rang. He looked over his shoulder. "Who's that?"

"I'll get it," she said, putting down her knife. "You finish chopping the celery."

"You're leaving me alone with a sharp kitchen implement?" he said as she passed him.

"Try not to chop off anything important," she said.

He put out a hand and stopped her, then pulled her close and kissed her. "Can you clarify which parts you think are important?" he said, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

Emily kissed him again, lifting one hand to tap a finger on his forehead. "Well, they're all nice, but I think I like this one the best." He smiled, looking touched. "Go, chop chop." She went to the door, hearing him muttering as he went into the kitchen.

Emily hauled open the massive front door, ready to smile at whoever if they were friendly or shut them down fast if they were selling something.

Standing on the top step were four people. No, scratch that – two couples. They looked –  _suburban. They look like suburbanites. I bet you the women are actual soccer moms. The men are wearing – oh my. Khaki slacks with pleats._

_These are your neighbors, Emily. They will make you just like them if you're not careful. Good thing you have the eccentric hipster genius and the crazy gingerbread horror-movie house as protection._

Her mind tried to imagine Spencer wearing pleated khakis and she had to stifle a guffaw. "Hello," she said, smiling politely.

A well-put-together woman, who was about Emily's age but dressed ten years older, stepped forward. "Hi there!" she said, friendly but not over-perky. "I'm Carol DeWeir, this is my husband Mark. We live across the street," she said, pointing to a Tudor home that Emily had always thought was pretty and nicely maintained. "This is Deb and Ralph Brickart, they live two houses down," she said, pointing up the street. Deb and Ralph smiled and waved. "We know you all are new in the neighborhood, and we wanted to come by and introduce ourselves, and welcome you."

Emily smiled, not quite knowing how to react to all this neighborly bonhomie. "That's so nice," she said, noting that all four of them were trying to be cool about their intense interest in seeing the inside of the house and failing miserably. "I'm Emily Prentiss," she said, shaking hands with Carol, who seemed to be the ringleader here. "Come on in," she said, holding the door open.

Barely concealing their glee, they filed into the foyer so Emily could shut the door. "Oh, my," Carol said, looking around.

"Umm…honey?" Emily called, injecting a subtle note of 'help me' into her voice.

"Yeah?"

"We have visitors."

After a brief pause he appeared in the archway that led to the dining room, drying his hands on a towel. "Oh," he said, blinking in surprise.

"Some of our neighbors dropped by to say hello," she said, giving him her 'let's try not to scare the mundanes' look. He acknowledged it with a quick, knowing nod. "This is Carol and Mark DeWeir, and Deb and Ralph Brickart. Uh…this is my husband, Spencer," she said. It was the first time she'd introduced him as such. It was at the same time a little bit weird and a little bit awesome.

Carol shook his hand. "So nice to meet you, Mr. Prentiss."

He glanced at Emily, amusement in his eyes. "It's Reid, actually. Dr. Reid. But you can call me Spencer."

"A doctor! What kind?"

"He isn't a medical doctor," Emily said, deflecting Carol's "doctor in the neighborhood" excitement.

"I have three PhDs, in chemistry, mathematics and engineering," Spencer rattled off. The group gaped at him.

Deb Brickart rescued the moment by changing the subject. "We can't believe what you've done with this place," she said to Emily.

"Oh, I didn't do anything!" she said. "The remodel was Spencer's project. I didn't even see it until it was done!"

Carol and Deb both focused their laser-beam interest on Spencer. "Did you keep those stained-glass windows?" Carol asked.

"Yeah! They're in the library," he said, lighting up at the chance to show off his project. "Would you like to see? Come on." He led them back through the house, all three of them now jabbering about the yard and the chimneys and the foundation.

Emily was left with the two bland-looking husbands in the foyer. "Uh…come on in, sit down," she said, motioning to the living room.  _Here I am with the other husbands,_  she thought, crazily.

"So," Mark said, smiling with backyard-barbecue friendliness. "What do you folks do?"

"We're FBI agents."

Both men's eyes went a little wide at that. "Really?" Mark said.

Emily nodded. "We work at Quantico in the Behavioral Analysis Unit." They had that blank look that people got when she put it like that. "We're profilers."

"Oh, yeah?" Ralph said, looking excited. "Like in 'Silence of the Lambs?'"

She sighed inwardly. Good movie, but she'd come to hate it for this very reason. "Something like that."

After ten awkward minutes of exposition and endless borderline-nosy questions (which nonetheless gave Emily and Spencer ample opportunity to profile their guests), Emily began to see that their neighbors were okay people. Deb, quiet at first, slowly revealed herself to be snarky and subversive, much to Emily's delight, and quite over Carol's head. Carol was a sweet, average woman, a little overly concerned with neighborhood safety, who was thrilled to find that she had two armed federal agents living across the street. Emily didn't have the heart to tell her that neither she nor Spencer were SWAT-qualified ass-kickers, although they did frequently have guests who were. Carol's husband Mark was a corporate drone who yearned to escape and pursue his music, as was evident by the glow in his eyes when he talked about the freelance work he did writing background scores for TV commercials, and Ralph was totally besotted with his wife. Emily guessed that she was his second, and the first had been a raging bitch.

They hauled out some wedding-present wine and everyone moved onto the back patio. Emily watched, amused, as Spencer attempted to interact with these suburban husbands with their sports jokes and concern for their investments.

Deb sauntered over to her side, her wineglass looking very comfortable in her hand. "Your husband is so young and cute," she said, her tone conspiratorial. "How old is he?" she asked, one eyebrow quirked –  _just between us girls, you know._

"Thirty."

"Hmm." Deb grinned and raised her glass. "Good for you."

"Why yes, he is," Emily said, mock-innocent. Deb laughed and winked, while Ralph interrogated Spencer about profiling, Carol exclaimed over the hydrangea bushes and Mark stared dreamily into the starry heavens.

_You got married and moved to the suburbs, Emily. The old gang would have a good laugh to see you now._

_Somehow I don't think they'll laugh. Our way of living in the suburbs isn't like most people's._

_You mean, because you're actually happy?_

Emily smiled to herself.  _So far, so good._

__

* * *

_  
_

 

_Dallas, Texas  
Saturday, 11:00 am – 16 hours missing_

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* * *

_  
_

 

Morgan dashed into the lounge. Reid was there, arms folded, staring down at the floor with his brow furrowed. "Reid, come quick. We got something," he said. Reid leapt up from the couch and hurried after him.

They went into the conference room, where Garcia had patched the video feeds onto the monitors there, each camera on a different screen. Reid saw Emily immediately. "Oh, God," he said, the words whooshing out of him on a harsh exhale. "She's alive." Morgan squeezed his shoulder. Everyone was quiet for a moment, letting Reid absorb this fact and get clear of his relief that Harmon hadn't harmed her. Reid pulled out a chair and sat in front of the monitors next to Hotch, who was examining the other feeds. "Where is this?" he said, all business.

"Has to be Harmon's hideout," Rossi said. "Garcia tracked his server from files Nathan sent to him. We still don't know where it is. All the cameras show interior rooms."

Reid was just staring at Emily on the screen. The image was unusually sharp and clear for a security camera, Morgan thought. Then again, the reason most security images were so grainy was that a higher resolution image was a larger datafile, and most standard security systems didn't have the memory. If Harmon had his own setup, he could have as much memory as he liked and take images of as high quality as he wanted. Whatever the reason, Morgan was grateful. They could see Emily with crystal clarity. There was sound, too. He could hear the sheets on the cot rustle when she changed position.

"She doesn't look hurt," Reid said.

"No. Garcia was able to access the stored footage, too."

"Has Harmon had any contact with her at all?"

"He hasn't been in her room since he put her there," Garcia said. "I scanned through all the footage at high speed. He just dumped her there, chained her, left the room and he hasn't been back since."

Reid frowned. "That's a long time for him to go without interacting with his hostage. You'd think he'd want to gloat."

"He wants her to sweat it," Rossi said.

"And he wants her to know that he's in control here," Reid went on. "He knows she's a profiler, but to do that she has to interact with him, so he's withholding himself and taking away her only remaining weapon against him. He'll have to talk to her eventually, but he'll wait until it's on his terms." He cocked his head. "She's shackled by one wrist only – and look, the chain goes back through that hole in the wall. Probably to give Harmon a way to control her movement. He can shorten or lengthen the chain at will." As they watched, Emily got up off the cot, her movements quick and frustrated. She paced in front of it, shaking her head. Reid swallowed hard, and Morgan saw his expression of professional detachment fracture and slip away. "Oh, Lola," he whispered, lifting one hand to touch the image of her face on the monitor.

"Reid," Hotch said, gently drawing his attention away from the monitor. "Midland police picked up Nathan Harris at the Barnes crime scene. He should be here in a few hours."

Reid's eyes went flinty. "Did they ask him about Harmon's hideout?"

"He said he didn't know anything about it. Listen, I know you're going to want to stay with Emily now that we have this video feed, but we still need you to talk to Harris."

He thought for a moment. "Gideon should take a crack at him first. He knows Gideon, he might feel comfortable with him."

"That's reasonable," Hotch said.

Reid turned back to the monitor. Emily had sat back down on the edge of the cot. She had her head in her hands. "There has to be some way to track this feed to Harmon's physical location," Reid said. Morgan could hear a sharp edge of frustration in his friend's voice. He felt it too. It made a hundred times worse being able to  _see_  her, but still be powerless to do anything.

"He's scrambling his signal's origin," Garcia said. "I can't get a fix on it, and you know how hard I tried, my lamb. I only got in by following breadcrumbs Nathan left in his computer."

"We're going to have to find him some other way," Hotch said. "In the meantime, let's be grateful we can monitor Emily's condition." Morgan and Hotch exchanged a glance. There was nothing to do now but wait, and keep working the case.

* * *

_Saturday, 1:00 pm – 18 hours missing_

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_

 

Hotch munched on a sandwich someone had put in front of him without tasting it. He was concentrating on the stack of printouts in front of him, a complete record of everyone Kurt Harmon had ever met. The bleak hope of finding someone in his past or present who could lead them to Emily kept him looking even while his optimism was fading fast.

"Hotch," JJ said, sitting next to him. "The press is becoming an issue. They're smelling blood in the water. They're not buying that we were at Harmon's house on a drug raid."

"That wasn't my idea, the Dallas chief put that story out. They were never going to buy it, not when there were no DEA agents present. Have they made any connection to Nathan Harris's victims?"

"No, so far no one's even dug up that those seven boys were killed by the same person. But they're starting to ask questions about an injured FBI agent. Someone must have seen Reid with a bandage on his head. And if they saw that, they saw other things. It's not going to keep."

"We need to keep the heat off Harmon."

"He seems like he's immune to the heat," JJ said, sounding bitter.

"I don't want him panicking and either moving Emily someplace we'll never find her, or God forbid getting rid of her altogether. Keep a lid on it."

"I'll do my best," she said, getting up.

Bullock came into the conference room. "Rangers are here with Harris. They're taking him to an interrogation room."

Hotch looked at Reid, who was just sitting watching Emily on the monitor. No reaction. "You sure you don't want to talk to him?" he asked.

Reid shook his head. "No. I'll stay here."

"But…"

"What if something happens?" Reid said, his voice sharp. He faced Hotch. "What if something happens to her and I'm not here? What if he does something to her and she's alone? No, I'm not leaving." He turned back to the monitor, which for the last two hours had shown nothing but Emily. Sitting, pacing, lying down. At one point it looked like she might be trying to get some sleep, but she was restless and had soon given up.

Hotch looked at Gideon and gave him a nod. Gideon left the room, off to interrogate Nathan Harris. Hotch was tempted to go and observe, but he felt just as disinclined as Reid did to leave this room and these monitors. "Dave, go with Gideon. I want you observing the interrogation." Rossi nodded and followed Gideon.

"I think she knows she's being watched," Reid said. "Or at least suspects, and is assuming she is."

"What makes you say that?" Hotch asked, leaning closer.

"I've been watching her for two hours and she isn't talking to herself. She isn't mumbling or muttering. Usually she does that when she's working something over in her head. But now, she's keeping quiet. She doesn't want to voice her thoughts out loud. And in the past hour she's looked up into the corners of the room six times. She's looking for a camera but doesn't want Harmon to twig that she thinks there is one so she's being subtle about it." Reid's jaw worked. "She's scared but she's controlling it. See how she's rubbing her elbows?"

Hotch nodded. "She's worried about you. She doesn't know if Harmon did something to you."

Reid sighed. "Yeah. She's fidgeting with her finger where her rings ought to be. I've been doing it all night," he said, glancing down at his own bare finger. "She's trying to figure Harmon out from what she's seeing, but there's not much to go on. The way he has her confined is interesting. He's given her freedom within the room, but there's a built-in way for him to control how much freedom. He could stick her right to the wall if he pulled the slack in that chain through the hole. It's like he doesn't want her to feel like a prisoner."

Hotch watched Reid's face. "Reid – I have to ask. How are you feeling, seeing her there like this?"

Reid spared him a glance. "Right now I'm just glad she's alive and not hurt. This can only help us, to see how Harmon interacts with her."

"Because it could get bad."

"I know."

"If it does…"

"I'm not leaving her, Hotch," he said, sounding immovable. "If it comes to that – I won't let her suffer alone. Even if she doesn't know I'm here."

* * *

_Dallas, Texas  
Saturday, 1:30 pm – 16.5 hours missing_

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Nathan Harris looked different.

He'd grown about six inches and put on a corresponding amount of weight. He looked like a man now, not a child. But in his eyes was the same confused, lost look that Gideon remembered.

Gideon watched him through the one-way glass as Nathan sat quietly, his gaze fixed somewhere in the middle distance, like he was watching a movie that only he could see. He didn't fidget, or ask for water, or display any nervousness at all. "Flat affect," Rossi said, quietly. He'd be watching Gideon's interrogation, gauging Nathan's responses.

"He learned to put it on years ago to mask what he feared others would see," Gideon said.

Rossi shook his head. "This kid's our best hope of finding Emily, Jason."

He nodded. "Then I better get in there."

He walked around into the interrogation room. Nathan sat up straighter at his entrance. He wasn't handcuffed despite being wanted for seven murders. He didn't look threatening enough to have done such a thing, but Gideon knew better than to put much stock in such impressions. Gary Ridgway hadn't looked like much, either.*

He sat down, putting on the same compassionate-but-detached persona he'd put on for that long-ago interview he'd conducted with this young man – this troubled, confused young man who might hold the key to rescuing Emily Prentiss. "Hello, Nathan."

Nathan nodded, shifting in his chair. "Agent Gideon."

"I bet you're surprised to see me here."

A disaffected shrug. "I was hoping to see Dr. Reid."

"Dr. Reid can't talk right now. He's very busy." No reaction from Nathan. "You know why he's busy?" Nathan shook his head, not looking at Gideon. "Did they tell you anything, the police who brought you here?"

He put his hands on the table, the fingers fidgeting with each other. "They said Kurt's gone missing and that he killed Elle. They asked me if I knew of a place Kurt might go to hide out, a secret place."

"Do you?"

"If I'd known I would have told them!" Nathan said, an edge coming into his voice for the first time. "Aren't you going to ask me about the boy in the woods? Or the one in Austin? Or any of the others?"

"I'm not here to talk about that, Nathan. We know what you did. This is about Kurt."

Nathan nodded. "Of course it is."

"Did you know Elle?"

"I met her a couple of times."

"Did you know she used to work with us?"

"Yeah. She told me. I told her I'd met Dr. Reid at a lecture at Georgetown. I didn't tell her the other stuff," he said, his voice trailing off at the end.

Gideon laced his fingers together on the table. "Nathan, do you remember Agent Prentiss?"

"With the dark hair?" Gideon nodded. "She was real nice. Real pretty, too."

"Yes," Gideon said. "She's both of those things." He allowed himself a tiny moment of sadness and worry for the woman thus described and the situation she was in, then pushed it away to focus on Nathan. "Well, Nathan, Agent Prentiss is Dr. Reid's wife. And last night, Kurt kidnapped her and took her somewhere. We don't know where."

Nathan looked up at him, his eyes watery. "He took Dr. Reid's wife?" he said, the word 'wife' sticking in Nathan's throat.

Gideon's internal picture of what was going on here shifted violently to one side. "Yes. So that's why Dr. Reid can't talk right now. He's worried about her, and he's trying to find her. We were hoping you could help us with that. We know Kurt has a hideout, where he keeps his real computers. It's set up with a surveillance system inside, it isn't a house but a building with cinderblock walls and cement floors. Do you know where this place is?"

Nathan sighed, a long, shuddery sigh. "No," he said, sounding pained. "I don't know. He wouldn't have told me."

Gideon let Nathan sit for a moment while he considered which of the many possible lines of questioning he should choose. "Nathan, how long have you known you were gay?" he asked, opting for the personal query to ease Nathan into more difficult revelations.

He just gave him that one-shoulder teenager's shrug again. "Never sure I was. I mean – it was girls I fantasized about. But not having sex with them. I imagined killing them. Sexual sadists usually fantasize about killing the gender they're attracted to, right?"

Gideon nodded. "Usually."

"But then I started thinking about guys. I didn't think about killing them. I thought about kissing them, and doing other stuff. I don't know what that means."

"I don't know, either. It's unusual." He paused, then spoke gently to ask the question he already knew the answer to. "Did you think about Dr. Reid?"

Nathan nodded, still gnawing on his fingernail. "Yeah. A lot. He was the first one I thought about."

"You thought about having sex with him?" Another nod. "About talking to him, and being close?"

"Yeah," he whispered.

Gideon's internal picture of the situation took another lurch. "Tell me about Kurt," he said.

Nathan sighed. "Met him at votech. He was a teacher. He seemed so smart, he seemed – cool. He talked to me like I was somebody, you know?" Gideon nodded. "He kinda reminded me of Dr. Reid."

"Did he get you the job at McKinniss?"

"Yeah. I was looking for a job closer to home, but I get this email from Kurt, he says there's openings at his company where he just started and I can start right away. I was excited, like I got picked for that. Kurt was different when I got there. More like a friend, not a teacher anymore."

Gideon could just about fill in the details himself without having to hear Nathan spell it out, because he could see how Harmon would have gone about it. He had treated Nathan like an equal. He'd probably defended him from some office blowhard harassing the new kid and may have gone so far as to set up the harassment so he could come to Nathan's rescue. He'd asked his opinion on something technical to bolster Nathan's ego. He'd let slip something personal and invited confidences in return. He'd made sure that Nathan got wind of Harmon praising him to a third party, most likely a superior. Then he'd started in on the let-me-show-you-Dallas routine. He'd taken him to a congratulatory/celebratory dinner. He'd bared some of his soul. He'd made a confession, not too shocking, just personal enough to signal his desire to get to know Nathan better.

Within a week, Kurt Harmon could have had Nathan in the palm of his hand. But two weeks to Nathan's first kill? That was fast work.

"When did you first tell him about your fantasies of killing?" Gideon asked, gently.

Nathan frowned, tension coming into his mouth. "I don't know. It's like it was just there, all along. He told me how he used to dream about killing his father. He beat his mom, you know. Killed her eventually, hit her on the head and she went into a coma and died. He said he wished he'd killed his father, maybe his mom would still be alive. I just – I don't hardly remember telling him what I thought about. But I do remember telling him I'd never ever kill anybody. Dr. Reid saved my life when he knew I might do that, I couldn't betray him like that. I couldn't kill someone like he knew I'd wanted to." He sighed, a very weary sigh for such a young man. "Kurt always told me to quit talking about Dr. Reid. He'd get mad when I did. He said I had to be my own man. He said it wouldn't be a crime, it was a public service because they were filthy whores." Nathan fidgeted again. "Then he told me that I didn't know Dr. Reid like I thought. He told me that he'd gotten married."

"Kurt knew that Dr. Reid got married?"

"Oh, yeah. He knew everything about him. He told me Dr. Reid's mom was crazy and she was in some asylum in Nevada. Said his father abandoned him when he was ten. He said Dr. Reid didn't care about me, he just cared about profiling, and finding killers to learn about how to catch more." A tear spilled over his eyelid and slid down his cheek. Nathan sniffed and wiped it away. "Kurt made it seem like killing a whore was like a noble thing. He said he'd do it himself but he wouldn't be any good at it, he'd get caught. He said someone like me was perfect for it, because I'd be careful."

"But you didn't kill a prostitute, did you?"

Nathan shook his head. "I tried. I drove to Midland so nobody'd find me afterwards. I walked around and the whores offered me dates, but I couldn't do it. I promised Dr. Reid. I promised him in my head."

"Then you saw a young man on the street. Someone like you used to be."

He nodded. "Yeah. Roy Barnes. I didn't know his name, then. I thought – it'd be different. It wouldn't be like killing a whore."

"It'd be like killing the part of you that wanted to," Gideon whispered.

"I don't know. Maybe." Nathan met Gideon's eyes, his own wide and near-disbelieving. "Kurt wanted to do it himself. He said I had to help him, I had to do it for him. It sounds crazy now, I know, but at the time – he just has this way."

"But you fought back in your own way, didn't you?"

"I dunno, I guess," Nathan said, sniffling. "Please, can I see Dr. Reid? I want to help him find his wife, I really do, I just don't know how I can."

Gideon stood up. "I'll see if he can come talk to you." Nathan nodded, and Gideon went back to the observation room. Rossi gave him a look as he entered. "This is worse than we thought," Gideon said.

Rossi nodded. "Way worse."


	25. Chapter 25

_Somewhere in Texas  
Saturday, 2:00 pm – 19 hours missing_

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Emily Prentiss was losing her damn mind.

_What kind of self-respecting kidnapper takes a federal agent hostage, sticks her in a room and leaves her there without coming to gloat over her? Never shows his face? Never lords over his superiority by bragging to her about how she's at his mercy?_

Either Kurt Harmon had gotten into a car crash on the way back from Walgreen's or he was a much cooler customer than she'd suspected.

_He's watching me. He has to be watching me. No way he'd have me here this long without enjoying the experience._

_That's what he's doing. Drawing it out. Relishing every moment. And he wants me to be losing my mind. He wants me on edge. If he wants to manipulate me, he's going to want to wait for the right moment. Wait until I'm primed and ready._

She sighed and sat down on the cot.  _Maybe I can force his hand by acting defeated and upset._  Emily grit her teeth.  _Lord knows that won't be too hard._

_Whip up some tears. Give him an opening._

_God, I hate this._

People tended to assume that Emily would be the sort of woman who didn't cry easily. That wasn't entirely true. She didn't cry at the drop of a hat, but she was human like the rest of the world. She'd cried buckets at the death of her father, although it still bugged her that the whole team had seen her like that. Certain movies made her cry. She'd cried when Spencer was shot, although she was the only one who knew it. She'd kept her cool on the scene, staying by his side and being calm while the paramedics looked at his arm, had gone with him to the hospital while he was cleaned out and stitched up, then had driven them both back to the police station since his arm was in a sling. Once they'd arrived there, she had quietly excused herself, found an empty interrogation room, locked the door and burst into tears. Residual tears of fear from the sight of him shot, tears of relief that the damage was superficial, and tears of anger that any of this was ever necessary. She'd waited until she was calm again, washed her face, and resumed her job as if nothing had happened.

But this? Here? Now? Crying because she was at this man's mercy? It rankled. She would prefer to suppress anything she felt or any tears that threatened. Ironically, playing the beaten-down victim could help her lure him in.

 _Goddammit. I swore I'd never do that cliché manipulative-girl thing and use tears as a weapon._  That wasn't fair and she knew it. She'd never used tears against a boyfriend, a boss, a co-worker or her husband. She thought she might be given a pass for using them against her kidnapper, though. Desperate times, and all that.

Emily lay down on the cot and curled up in a semi-fetal position. Crying wouldn't be difficult, either. She'd already been holding real tears back as it was.

_Think of your mother. Think of her getting the news that you've been killed. Imagine your own funeral, your friends standing over your grave._

_Imagine Spencer's face. Think of how you'd feel if it were him dead, and you were never going to see him or hold him again._

That did it. Emily's face creased and she wept.

* * *

_Dallas, Texas  
Saturday, 2:00 pm – 19 hours missing_

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* * *

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Reid watched Emily cry on the monitor, frowning.

JJ was looking over his shoulder. "Oh, Emily," she sighed. Seeing her friend cry there in her cell, all alone – part of her wished they didn't have to watch it, even if being able to see her was a significant investigative advantage.

"No," Reid said. "She's faking. I'm almost certain."

"How do you know?"

"If she was going to cry she'd have done it when she first woke up, when the truth was strange and shocking. But this? It's like she just decided from one minute to the next that she was going to cry, so she lay down and made herself cry." He sat back, smiling to himself. "She knows he must be watching, so he can pick his moment to come in and start working on her. He'd want her at a low point, so she's showing him one."

"You really think so?" JJ said, peering at the monitor, which showed Emily still curled up in a ball.

Reid nodded. "I know her, JJ."

Before JJ could respond, they both heard a sound from the monitor. It was an odd clanking sound. "What's that?" JJ asked.

Reid sat up straighter. "He's pulling her chain short. He's coming in. Hotch!" Hotch came running over and sat down next to Reid. Morgan leaned over Reid's shoulder. The four of them crowded close to watch. Garcia wheeled her chair over to join them.

"Spencer, I just…" Gideon began, just entering the room with Rossi hot on his heels.

"Harmon's coming into Emily's cell," Reid said, cutting him off. Gideon and Rossi didn't say anything else, just hurried over to stand behind them. Everyone watched, holding their breath, as Emily's chain was shortened to no more than a foot in length, effectively pinning her to the cot. "Garcia, take screengrabs of anything that might help us later."

"You got it, sweetie," she said.

The door opened, and they all saw Kurt Harmon, a man they'd all been talking about so much he'd started to seem like a mirage. He came in and shut the door behind him. Emily was sitting up on the cot; she didn't react much to his entrance.

Harmon pulled up a chair and sat before her. He had a file folder in his hands and what looked like a newspaper. When he spoke, his voice was low and genteel.

"Hello, Emily."

"What do you want with me?" She was calm, but JJ heard a tremor of fear in her voice. She wondered if it were put on, or genuine.

"Right now? Just some information."

"You have ways to get your own information."

"I'm curious."

"About what?"

Harmon leaned forward. "Tell me about Dr. Reid."

Emily shifted on the cot. "I'm not telling you anything about him. You probably know everything, anyway."

"I know the outlines. The public record. Genius prodigy, eidetic memory, schizophrenic mother, absent father, BAU wunderkind, and your devoted spouse. That doesn't interest me. I want to know the things only a wife knows."

Emily nodded, thoughtful. "Well, he doesn't leave the seat up and he puts his socks in the hamper. Does that help?"

Reid snorted, then put his hand over his mouth like he was afraid to make another sound.

Harmon was quiet for a moment. "Good job with the fake crying."

She sighed, a long shaky tidal sigh of weariness. "It wasn't fake."

"The thing is, you seemed despairing, and now you're cocky. You put on that fear to draw me in here, didn't you?" Emily said nothing.

"Dammit," Hotch muttered.

"I'm a profiler, too," Harmon said. "Maybe a better one than you are."

Emily's jaw was clenching. "You're not a better one than my husband," she said, the words bitten off. "The only thing you need to know about him is that he'll find me, and he'll find you. No matter how smart you think you are, I promise you that he's smarter."

JJ saw Reid blinking a little to hear Emily talk about him that way.

"He'll find you, huh?" Harmon said.

Reid frowned. "Something's wrong," he said.

"What?" Morgan said.

"I don't know. Something. He's – smirking. Like he's happy she said that. He's drawing it out like he's savoring the moment." He went quiet so they could hear what was going on.

"Your faith in him and your team, it's touching," Harmon said. "But Dr. Reid won't be coming for you."

"He won't stop looking for me," Emily said.

Harmon smiled. "He can't look for you anymore, Emily. You see, your precious husband? I'm afraid he's dead."

Reid sucked in a strangled gasp. "Oh my God," Garcia said, her voice high and breathy. JJ felt her whole body go cold. She saw Morgan's hand clamp down on Reid's shoulder. Hotch's face looked like an Easter Island statue.

On the screen, Harmon was letting the words hang in the air, spinning out the moment like a gossamer thread. Emily didn't react for a few beats, then she shook her head. "You're lying."

"No, Emily. I Tasered you, remember? You were unconscious. I hit him over the head with a two-by-four, then I slit his throat. I picked you up and carried you off, and here we both are."

"Oh no, no no no," Reid was murmuring under his breath. JJ put her hand on his arm; it was clenched and she could feel every tendon sticking out like rope beneath his skin.

Emily's chest was rising and falling faster. "No," she said. "I don't believe you."

Harmon stood up and reached into his pocket. "I thought you'd like to keep these," he said, holding out his hand. In the palm, to no one's surprise, were Reid's wedding ring and pocket watch.

Emily took them like she was in a daze. "You could have taken them off him. He wouldn't have had to be…" She trailed off, like she couldn't bring herself to say the word. Her voice was shaking.

"Quite true." He opened the file folder and withdrew a photograph. Garcia grabbed it into a still shot and enlarged it – it was of Reid, lying on the ground at Harmon's house, with his throat cut. He held it out to her. "I brought proof."

"But…how did he…" JJ stammered. This was too horrible.

Garcia was taking screengrabs every second, tracking the photo. "You can do amazing things with Photoshop if you know what you're doing. I've seen jobs done on photographs that would fool anyone. He must have taken the picture after he knocked you out."

"That explains what he's been doing all this time since he left her there," Rossi said. "Jesus, look at that – he's even got correct arterial spray."

Emily reached out and took the photo. It shook in her hand. Her mouth was opening and closing. "No, you didn't." She sounded less disbelieving and more pleading now. She stared up at Harmon with wide eyes, eyes that beseeched him to tell her that this was a trick, he was just trying to get under her skin, it wasn't really true. "No," she whispered.

He sighed, almost apologetically, and pulled out the newspaper. "It was in the morning edition, too. FBI raid on suspected killer's house leaves one agent missing, one dead. Here, see for yourself." He handed her the paper. Garcia grabbed the image and blew it up. It appeared to be the  _Dallas Morning News._  Emily snatched it out of his hand and unfolded it. Her head shook as she paged through the paper. It was very convincing, even through the monitors.

"Don't tell me you can do that in Photoshop," Morgan said. He sounded like he was about to be sick.

Garcia, chin trembling, was staring at Emily on the screen. "No, but you can get page layout software anywhere and if you can get an in at a printing press you can have a one-off done up. You can even order it online. People do it as gags sometimes. You guys said Harmon would have planned for this."

"She can't be believing him," JJ said, hoping that Emily wasn't buying it.

"Why wouldn't she?" Gideon said, his voice grim. "She knows Harmon's capable of murder. She sees what he's showing her. And her fear of this exact thing will weaken her disbelief."

Reid had been sitting stonily silent through these exchanges. Suddenly he leaned closer and put his hand on the screen. "It's not true, Em," he whispered. "It's not true." He said it again and again, the words barely more than exhalations, as if he were trying to cast a spell so she would hear him and know that it wasn't true.

Harmon bowed his head. "I'll leave you alone for awhile. I'm sorry for your loss."

Emily's head came up. Her teeth were bared in fury. She lunged off the cot but was yanked back by the chain. "I'll kill you myself," she shouted at him, her voice raw-edged with emotion. "I don't care if I go to jail for the  _rest of my life!_ "

The team watched this unfold, everyone breathing a little quicker, horrified but unable to look away. Gideon had his hand on Reid's other shoulder now. The lump in JJ's throat was clogging her breath, the monitors were blurry through the unshed tears in her eyes. Reid now had both hands on the monitor, gripping it by the edges like he was going to shake it, erasing what Harmon had done like a picture on an Etch-a-Sketch.

Harmon picked up the photo and the newspaper and moved to the door, replacing the chair he'd been sitting on. "We'll talk more later," he said, patronizing, like Emily'd had a tantrum and he was giving her a chance to cool down.

He left the room. JJ heard the clanking sound of the chain being paid out. Emily grabbed it with both hands and yanked it through the wall as far as it would go, yelling in frustration as she did. She paced, her hands making meaningless gestures in the air like she'd lost control of them, her head shaking in silent negation. She stopped abruptly, then lurched to the toilet behind the curtain, fell to her knees beside it and vomited.

Garcia was weeping openly. JJ hung onto her hand for dear life lest she do the same thing. Reid had gone a very unnatural shade of gray.

They all watched, helpless, as Emily got to her feet and flushed the toilet. She swiped at her mouth with the back of her hand and shuffled back to the cot. She sank down on it and reached out for Reid's ring. She picked it up and held it before her in both hands, then slid it onto her own thumb, lacing both hands together as if to keep it there. She sucked in a shaky breath. "Spencer," she said, the name a half-moan, echoing with heartbreak. She curled in on herself like a pillbug and a ragged cry tore its way out of her chest, the sound carrying her despair to their ears.

And all they could do was watch. Watch as Emily heaved and gasped, coughing half-sobs escaping her, arms wrapped around herself as if she might fly apart otherwise.

Hotch got up in a convulsive lunge. "We have to  _find him,_ " he said, hoarse.

No one said anything. The sound of Emily crying was like a black hole, sucking all the thoughts from their heads, leaving them standing there empty of ideas or even the motivation to form new ones.

Bullock walked in. "What's going on?" he asked.

JJ turned toward him. "Harmon just told Emily that he killed Reid."

Bullock's face reddened. "Aw, hell. Son of a bitch." He came up to the group huddled around the monitor and looked down at Emily. "That poor gal. I'd like a few minutes alone with this asshole when we catch him."

"Get in line," Morgan said, his voice tight.

"Came in to tell you the bad news," Bullock said. He switched one of the monitors over to the local TV station. A reporter was standing in front of the very building in which they stood.

"New information has surfaced about last night's raid on a home in Forney," the chipper woman was saying. "Although Dallas Police have described the raid as drug-related, the presence of the FBI has raised questions about whether that description is entirely accurate. NBC 5 has just received information from a trusted source that the FBI was present to serve a warrant on this man, Kurt Harmon, the owner of the home." The screen flashed a picture of Harmon. "We are told that Harmon is wanted in connection with the murder last week of a Richardson woman found shot in her home. We are also informed that Harmon was present, but escaped custody when he assaulted two federal officers, Tasering one of them and taking her hostage, removing her from the scene. The whereabouts of Harmon and his hostage are currently unknown. The agent, who has not been identified, is a member of the FBI's elite Behavioral Analysis Unit, in Dallas investigating the Richardson murder. Local police and the Bureau are cooperating to mount a statewide manhunt for Kurt Harmon. If you have any information about this crime or about Kurt Harmon, please contact the Dallas Police Department or the local FBI field office."

Hotch grimaced. "Damn."

"This is going to bury us," Rossi muttered.

"It could spook Harmon, too," Morgan said. "If he panics…"

"He won't," Reid said. He hadn't spared a glance for the news broadcast, keeping his eyes on Emily. "He's gone to ground. He's planned for this, and he clearly has very specific intentions for Emily. He won't abandon that plan easily, and surely won't if he feels well hidden."

"Why didn't he kill you for real?" Bullock asked. Everyone looked at him. He shrugged. "Just askin."

"That's a good question," Morgan said. "He could have. Easily."

"He needs me alive," Reid says. "He's punishing me by doing this to Emily."

"But he doesn't know you can see this," JJ pointed out. "Him telling her you're dead – it must be a means to an end, an end that you'll know about. So what's the end?"

Everyone was quiet. JJ's question went unanswered. The possibilities were too awful to voice aloud.


	26. Chapter 26

_Alexandria, Virginia  
five months ago_

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Emily opened the door to rapturous greetings and upthrust arms from the three women on her doorstep. She returned their cries of "Hey!" and reached out to embrace them all at once. "Oh my God, you guys!" she said, grinning from ear to ear. It did her soul good to see them, because these were her girls. Her college friends, the women who'd known her not yet fully formed, her Yale posse. Germany, Nora and Kate. Her girls. The three of them were on a road trip together, driving south to Miami to attend a wedding. Germany lived in Buffalo, Nora in New York and Kate in Burlington, Vermont, so they'd met in Manhattan and headed down big old I-95. When she'd gotten Germany's call two weeks before asking if they could stop for the night at Emily's house, she'd been delighted. She hadn't seen any of them in two years, although phone calls were regularly exchanged.

"Oh my God, Emily, this  _house,_ " Kate said, pulling back and looking up at the Gothic arch of the front door.

"Well, come on in," Emily said, holding the door and bustling all three of them and their overnight bags into the foyer. "Just leave your bags there, you guys must be hungry."

"I wanna see this place first," Kate said.

Germany smacked her. "Are you crazy? I wanna see the  _husband_  first! Where is he?" she said. "I have not forgiven you for eloping, missy."

"You could have come to Mom's big-ass party," Emily said.

Nora rolled her eyes. "Your Mom's parties aren't for bad seeds like us."

"It just sucks that you're the last one to get married and we weren't there," Germany went on, pooching out her lower lip.

"I know," Emily said, genuinely sad about that. She'd thought of her girls in that atrium room at the Bellagio when she'd stepped up to marry Spencer and wished they could be there. She'd called all three of them on the off chance they could get away on a moment's notice, but none of them could. "All right, if you want to see The Husband, I'll get him. You guys go in the kitchen, I got out some wine, so crack it open and get started. I'll be right back." They bustled off, exclaiming over the house, while Emily went into the library. In the corner was a spiral wrought-iron staircase that led to the gabled room directly above which she and Spencer used for an office.

He was at his desk scribbling madly, but he looked up when she came in. "I thought I heard some people being murdered downstairs," he said.

"Ha ha. The girls want to meet The Husband."

"Is that how I'm to be addressed for the duration of the evening?"

"You'll be lucky if they stick to that and don't start calling you BrainBoy or StudMuffin."

"Given the choice, I think The Husband will do just fine." He got up. "Do I look all right? Am I presentable? I know this is your favorite shirt," he said, pointing to the wine-red button-down. Over it was a dark gray vest, his watch-chain twinkling against it.

She smiled. "You look gorgeous. Are you sticking around for dinner?"

"I think I'll just let you guys catch up," he said, smirking. "I'm going over to Morgan's. A few of his gym buddies want to play poker. He thinks they need to be taken down a peg so I'm the ringer."

They went downstairs. The girls had already emptied one bottle of wine into four glasses and were chattering about the Viking stove and the quartz countertops. All of them straightened up and fell silent when Emily came in. "Okay. Here he is," she said. "Guys, this is my husband, Spencer Reid." Suddenly, she found herself getting a little choked up to be introducing him to her friends. These women were part of her soul, in a way that only happened when you were young and in college and forming your own families while you reshaped yourself. It hadn't felt right that they'd never met the man who was the most important person in her life now. "Spencer, this is Germany, Nora and Kate."

He stepped up and shook each of their hands, smiling his borderline-strained 'oh god new people' smile. "Nice to meet you. I've heard a lot about all of you."

"Well, we haven't heard nearly enough about you," Kate said, winking at him.

"Especially since you denied us bridesmaid duties by whisking Emily off for a whirlwind wedding," Germany said, her tone scolding.

"I don't know what she's told you, but that was entirely Emily's idea."

"It's nice to meet you, Spencer," Nora said, with a genuine smile. "But we do have to make sure you're good enough for our girl, here."

"He's good enough," Emily said, exasperated. "Shouldn't that be my call?"

"We'll just see," she replied, archly.

"Don't you have to get to Morgan's?" Emily said, looking beseechingly up at him.

"Uh…yeah. Sorry to run off, but I'm expected somewhere," he said. "I'll be back before midnight. I'm sure you four will still be up," he said, glancing at Emily. "You can give me the third degree then, okay?"

Germany raised a glass toward him. "Film at eleven. Excellent."

He leaned down toward her. "Don't get too blasted," he murmured.

"Don't be too rough on the gym buddies."

He kissed her quickly, then headed past the island to the back door, grabbing his coat off its peg as he left, waving to the girls.

They watched him go, then as one swiveled their heads back over to Emily to stare at her. "What?" Emily said.

"I thought you said you'd married some nerdy genius guy," Germany said.

"That's what I thought, too!" Kate exclaimed.

Emily picked up her glass of wine and joined them around the island. "I did marry a nerdy genius guy. That was him."

Nora snorted. "Well, I must have missed something, because apparently nerds are now available in 'sexy.'"

"Hear hear," Germany said.

Emily grinned and clinked glasses with them, privately agreeing.

* * *

_Somewhere in Texas  
Saturday, 3:00 pm – 20 hours missing_

__

* * *

_  
_

 

She was hollow inside. Cold and dead and hollow.

Her throat was raw and her back was killing her. Everything was killing her.

_Everything is killing me._

The cot was floating, her clothes rasped her skin like they were made of sandpaper. Those weren't her feet on the floor. Everything was echoing from a great distance across the impassable canyon of a single word.

_Dead._

Her husband, her lover, her partner. Gone. Taken.

Harmon. Harmon had killed him. Why? Harmon wasn't a killer. Except now he was. He'd killed Elle. He'd broken the seal on his long-suppressed desires. He'd done it once, why not do it again? And why kidnap her? To act out more of his fantasies that he'd previously only experienced vicariously. Not just to kill. To  _hurt._  To manipulate. Manipulate her into what? She was afraid to speculate.

Why had he taken her and not Spencer? He'd clearly meant to get her, she'd taken the Taser hit. Was it because she was smaller, and he could get her away from the house more easily? Or was it just because, like any other sexual sadist, he had urges to inflict pain and horror upon a woman? Was it convenience, or did he  _need_  to take her?

_Did he kill the man I love out of necessity, or so he could watch my face when he told me, and see my pain? Did he do it to enable him to get away clean, or did he do it to make me suffer?_

_He's a mastermind. He has a plan for me. He has free rein. He can make me suffer. He's doing a damn good job so far._

She couldn't think. All she could see was that photo. Spencer's slack face, the blood, the horrible gaping wound on his neck, that neck she'd loved to kiss…

_Don't think about it. You can't think about it now. Keep it together._

_I can't think about anything else._

_You're still alive. You have to go on, for him. He'd want you to fight, to get through this._

_I can't do it. There's nothing left. And if I do get through this, then what? Then I have to face life without him. Going home to that house, the home he built for us before he knew that's what he was doing, that home where he is in every corner and every piece of woodwork and every inch of flooring. Going to work, waiting for him to jump in with a statistic that never comes, going to bed, the bed so cold, waiting for him to get in and warm it up, being cold forever._

_But it'll be life. You still have it. It's yours, don't let go. You can make it. You can have your life, even now._

_Some part of her knew that was true, but right now she didn't care. It was too raw, too fresh, and all she could see was what she'd lost. She wanted to lie down and drift away into the gray haze before her eyes, escape someplace where she'd never heard those words and seen that photo, someplace where she wouldn't have to know that he was gone and that he would never know what he had meant to her because she'd never been able to really tell him._

_Not like this. It wasn't supposed to end like this._

_You weren't supposed to marry a man like him, either. You were supposed to marry a lawyer or a mid-level FBI bureaucrat, not a man ten years younger than you who wears mismatched socks. You were supposed to marry someone safe and have kids and take pictures of them with you when you got on the jet and come home to your colonial house in Arlington or Silver Spring or Frederick and have them run to greet you, and your husband was supposed to wear a suit and carry a briefcase and work nine to five and play golf on weekends. There was supposed to be a dog and birthday parties with balloon animals and minivans and vacations to Aspen or Palm Beach._

_I know that life. I see that life. That life I was supposed to have, that the world told me I ought to want, in one permutation or another._

_Thank God I fell in love with Spencer instead._

She let out a weak sob, pressing a wadded-up paper towel to her face.

_You had two years. It's not what you hoped for, but it's more than a lot of people get. Instead of a lifetime of golf and minivans, you had two years of observatories and crazy pastiche houses and a closet full of thrift-store cardigans. You had two years of random factoids and anything-goes sex and a schizophrenic mother-in-law and three a.m. chess games on the floor in the library._

_I want more. Please, God. I know we don't talk much these days but please, send me back in time. Let me take it back. Give me more than two years, it's not enough, it's never enough, there was so much we hadn't done yet. I was planning to take him to Italy next summer. He was planning to go to his high-school reunion and I was going to wear my slinkiest dress so he could show me off in front of all the bullies who used to make his life hell. I was planning to wake up with him every day for the rest of my life, oh Jesus I don't think I can do this._

She rocked slightly, sitting there on the edge of the cot, back and forth.

_Come on, Em. Pull it together._  That wasn't her voice. It was his.

She wasn't even surprised to hear it in her head. She'd heard it there often enough before, usually when she was doing something inadvisable, she'd hear him spouting statistics and telling her she was being reckless. If ever she needed his rationality it was now.

_I'm trying but I feel like I'm breaking into a million pieces._

_You can do it, baby._

_You never call me that._

_It doesn't matter. Listen to what I'm telling you, sweetheart._

_You never call me that, either. Mostly you just call me Emily. Except when you call me Lola._

_Emily is your name. I'm not much for using endearments._

_Maybe I'd like it if you did. Just once in awhile._

_Quit avoiding. Pay attention. Think clearly._

_I can't. Give me an hour or so to wallow, okay?_

_You don't have an hour. Every minute is a minute Harmon's out there deciding what to do with you. You have to focus on him, on getting out. I'm gone but you're not. If you live, then something of me lives, too._

_Oh, God. My beautiful genius. I can't think about never seeing you again. I love you so damn much._

_Shh. I love you, too. But you know, death cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it for awhile._

_I cannot believe you're giving me Princess Bride quotes right now. I need help._

_You have all the help you need. You were always the strong one, Emily._

_I'm tired. I'm tired of being the strong one. Let me be weak for a little while before I have to be strong enough to go on alone. I'll do it. You know I will. I'll get up and I'll get out of here and I'll bury you and I'll go home and pick up the pieces and remember to breathe and cook meals and work on cases and eventually I won't have to force myself to do any of it. But I'm not there yet. Right now I'm weak and I'm broken and part of me wishes Harmon would just kill me too and it scares me that I wish that, even a little bit._

_It's okay if you're weak right now, Em. Being strong doesn't mean never being weak. You taught me that, you know._

_Okay. Okay. I can do this._

_That's my Lola. Just imagine we're in the office at home, talking out a case like we do. So come on. Talk to me. What do we know about Harmon?_

_He's a manipulator. He needs the control to feel powerful. He uses that power to live out his fantasies, the ones he doesn't dare carry out himself._

_Right. So who's he controlling now?_

_Me. And through me, the team. But this is also his last chance. He knows now that we know his name, we know what he did, we know about Nathan and Elle and everything else. He knows that he's finished. This is his last shot._

_What does that tell us?_

_That he'll make this count. Whatever he'd been building up to, whatever his ultimate fantasy of manipulation was, he has to do it now or never. He's never acted on his own desires before. He's always done it vicariously through others. So now that he has me – he can do whatever he likes to me. Everything he's ever fantasized about doing._

_Exactly._

_He…he could torture me. Rape me. Beat me. God knows what he's been imagining all these years, and now he has the chance to do it himself. Spencer, I'm scared._

_I know you are. I'm here with you._

_You're not, you'll never be here again._

_I'm here no matter what. Don't think about what he might do to you. Think about what he wants, what he needs. Use it to your advantage._

_Okay. Okay. What's his endgame, then? How would he want this to end for me? What's the ultimate victory for a man who manipulates others, how would he…oh._

_Yes, Emily. You got it._

_Oh my God._

_There it is._

_I know why he killed you. He wants me to kill myself. He's going to try and get me to do it. What could be more powerful than to make someone take her own life?_

_So how will he do it? What steps will he take to bring you to that point?_

_The first he already did._

_What next?_

_He'll try and break me down. He can have his fun with me and make me wish for death. Oh Jesus._

_He's going to hurt you. But everything he does and says will help you turn the tables on him, as long as you can stand it, you have to think about the profile. What does it tell you about him, and how can you use it to save yourself?_

_I can take it._

_And now you know something else._

_Yes. I know how to win. Thanks for the help._

_You know I'm not really here, right? I'm just another part of you._

_I know. And you always will be. You were the one, Spencer._

_See there? You're dealing with it already._

_What?_

_You said 'you were.' Past tense._

_. . ._

_Emily?_

_. . ._

_Emily!_

_Yeah. I'm here. Now that I've got this figured out, can I just lie here and cry until he comes back in? It'll help things along if he sees me do that anyway._

_Okay. Just don't ever forget that everything has to be under your control. Don't slip up and start believing what you're showing him. You have to put your real feelings in that little box you have and lock it away for later. You're giving him a performance._

_I won't forget. I just – I'm never going to see you again and I don't know what to do with that. I told you a few days ago that I couldn't imagine my life without you. I still can't._

_You'll see me again someday._

_You're an atheist, Spencer, you don't believe that._

_No, but you do, and that's what matters right now._

_Stay with me?_

_I'll always love you, Emily. I'll never leave you._

Emily let her head fall back, the tears running down her face.

_Liar._

__

* * *

_  
_

 

_Dallas, Texas  
Saturday, 3:30 pm – 20.5 hours missing_

__

* * *

_  
_

 

The shock had worn off, and everyone's brain was coming back online. Hotch, Rossi and Gideon were at the conference table. The phone had been ringing off the hook since the news broadcast, and they had to put eyes to every tip that came in. JJ and Garcia were going through screengrabs. Morgan had gone to observe Nathan Harris some more. Reid stayed in front of the monitor, hunched forward, never taking his eyes off Emily's image on the screen. She was still sitting on the edge of the cot, knees drawn up and her arms wrapped around them, making herself as small as possible. A defensive pose. His hands itched to touch her, his arms ached to hold her, he had the urge to shout loud enough that she'd be able to hear him wherever she was.  _I'm not dead, Emily, I'm coming to find you, I swear._

JJ slid her chair over to him. "How is she?"

"She seems – calmer. It's like she's thinking."

"Or trying not to," JJ said. "I can't imagine what she's going through right now. Well, I can. I don't want to."

Emily's head came up, her brow furrowed slightly. Reid tensed and leaned forward a little more. She cocked her head and let her legs unfold, feet back down on the floor. "She's figured something out," Reid said, a grim smile coming to his lips.

"What?"

"I don't know."

"Reid," Hotch said. He turned around. "We need to tell you about Nathan."

"Hotch, I can't leave her."

JJ patted his arm. "I'll stay with her, Spence."

He looked from the monitor to JJ's face and back again.  _What if something happens? One second could be important._  He sighed. "Okay." He got up and joined the group.

"I've spoken to Nathan," Gideon said. Reid was only half-listening. He couldn't stop looking over Hotch's shoulder to the monitor.

Hotch interrupted Gideon with a raised hand, took hold of Reid's arm and gently but firmly moved him, swapping their positions so Reid's back was to the monitors. He said nothing, just nodded to Gideon to continue. Reid forced himself to refocus.  _JJ's watching. It's okay._  He fixed his eyes on Gideon.  _You wanna stare at her on a monitor, or do you want to get her back, genius? Pay attention._  "You spoke to Nathan," he said.

Gideon nodded. "This is more complex than we thought."

"In what way?"

"He's fixated on you, Spencer."

Reid frowned. "He's what?"

"He's in love with you, or he thinks he is. It's probably more accurate to say he's in love with what you represent. What you are that he wishes he could be."

"But he fantasized about killing women. Sexual preference in sadists is pretty clear. And the men he's killed don't represent sex objects, they're surrogates for himself."

"I know. He confirmed that when he described his first kill. I don't quite understand it, either. He still fantasizes about killing women, but he also fantasizes about sex with men. It started with one particular man."

Reid sighed. This just got creepier and creepier. "In his struggle to reconcile his homicidal thoughts with his conscience he's displaced his sexual feelings onto men. It's an attempt to blunt the urges."

Rossi nodded. "In his mind, if he can take the sexual attraction away from women, he won't want to kill them anymore."

Gideon went on. "Harmon started out as a substitute for you, Reid, but it quickly became more. He played Nathan, using emotional manipulation to gain control over his feelings."

Reid nodded. "Validation, acceptance and reinforcement."

"Also, Nathan told me that Harmon knew everything about you, for months. It wouldn't have taken him long to see that Nathan's idealization of you was going to be his biggest obstacle, so he started doing research. Partly to know enough about you to deal with Nathan's fixation, but also because he himself would have become fixated on the person standing between him and perfect control of Nathan."

Reid scrubbed his hand over his face. "This is crazy."

"It's speculation, is what it is," Hotch said. "Let's not forget that whatever else he hopes to accomplish, Harmon's first and fundamental motive here is to serve his need to control and manipulate. Everything else is secondary. The fact is that Harmon has Emily and he's clearly got something in mind for her. He's going to a lot of trouble to keep her somewhere secure and manipulate her emotions. Why? What's his endgame here?"

Reid's thoughts were racing. "He has to know this is it for him. We've been inside his house, we've got Nathan, we know his name and what he's done. He didn't bother to wear gloves when he attacked us, he knows we know who he is. This would normally be the time we'd start looking for suicide by cop, but – I don't know, that isn't his style."

"But it is his last shot," Rossi said. "And it's his first chance to interact with an actual victim. He's not the Rasputin anymore, pulling other people's strings, he's the one with a weapon in his hand. He's living out those displaced fantasies in the flesh now. It could be like explosive decompression. Whatever he's been fantasizing about doing but hasn't yet dared try, the ultimate achievement. It's now or never."

Reid frowned. "He needs me alive so I can know what's going to happen to Emily." The answer, so obvious now, came to him. "Oh, God," he said, seeing the same realization on the faces of his colleagues.

Hotch exhaled. "He wants her to kill herself, and for you to know that she did it and why."

Gideon shook his head. "To manipulate a strong, emotionally healthy woman into suicide," he said, marveling at the idea. "It's the Holy Grail. It's his Everest. And he'll do it to the wife of the man who's stood in his way all these months. It's like a planetary alignment, a perfect storm for him."

"That's why he convinced her he'd killed you," Hotch said.

"He hasn't given her any water or food, either," Reid said. "He'll try to weaken her physically."

"Reid, I think you should go back to the hotel," Gideon said.

"Why?"

"You know why. He's off the leash. He can do whatever he wants to her. What if he drugs her? What if he tortures her? You shouldn't watch this."

Reid's mouth hung open. "Are you kidding me? I'm not leaving, no matter what he does. I don't care how hard it is for me to watch, I am not leaving her alone with him."

"She doesn't know you're there," Gideon said.

_I think I'm getting why your marriage failed, Jason,_  Reid thought but did not say. "Emily knows I'm always with her. Even if she can't see me, even if she thinks I'm dead. I don't care what happens, I'll be there for her. And she will never kill herself. He can do whatever he likes to her but she won't do it."

"Are you sure?" Gideon asked, gently.

"I know my wife, Gideon. She won't do it. She'll do whatever she has to do to survive and see Harmon arrested. If he thinks killing me would have made her want to die, he's got it backwards. If anything it'll make her want to live more."

"You sound pretty sure about that," Rossi said.

"I'm absolutely sure."

"Then I hope we find her soon, because if she won't break down, he'll just try harder."

No one had a response to that. "I'm going back to her," Reid said. The others nodded, so he stepped away and resumed his place in front of the monitor. Emily was lying on the cot now, it looked like she might be dozing. Reid set his jaw and shut his eyes, doing his best to block out images of all the horrible things Harmon could do to Emily, things he'd have to watch.

_Compartmentalize, Spencer. I've seen you do it._

_I'm not as good at it as you are, Em._

_You do all right. Anyway, I can take it. You know I can._

_I don't want you to take anything. I want you to be here with me, safe, where I can see you and hear your voice and know that when I go to bed tonight you'll be there and I'll be able to hear your breathing, because by now I need it to fall asleep._

_Put on your big-boy shorts and deal with it. Quit feeling sorry for yourself and find me._


	27. Chapter 27

_Alexandria, Virginia  
three months ago_

__

* * *

_  
_

 

Reid looked over the contents of his cart, hoping he hadn't forgotten anything. The last time he'd come home without the Milano cookies and there had been hell to pay.  _Toothpaste, hummus, bagels, soup, the Greek yogurt Emily likes...I know I'm forgetting something._

_Oh, right. Sour mix. Germany's visiting this weekend._

He headed for the bar supplies aisle. He was pondering how big a jug of sour mix he should get when his phone rang. It was Mrs. Genius. "Hey."

"Hey. Are you still at the store?"

"Yep. Say, how many amaretto sours do you think Germany can drink in one weekend?"

"Get the biggest bottle they have."

"My thoughts exactly." He bent down and hauled the largest bottle off the bottom shelf and put it in the cart. "What's up? Do you need something else?"

"Umm...yeah."

He waited. She didn't say anything. "Emily?"

"What?"

"I will be more likely to buy it if you tell me what it is."

She sighed. "I swore I would never do this to any boyfriend, husband or male relative."

"Do what?"

"I need tampons."

"Okay."

"I'm sorry, honey."

"Why are you apologizing?"

"Because I know it's embarrassing."

"It is?"

"You're not embarrassed to buy tampons?"

"They're obviously not for me. They're a legitimate and necessary item which anyone I'm obviously purchasing for my wife. The fact that you menstruate is no cause for shame, it's a healthy and normal bodily function, and it makes you need tampons. Is it embarrassing to buy deodorant? Or razors?"

"Well, no..."

"I don't see the difference."

"Most men find it embarrassing."

"Then I guess I'm not like most men."

She chuckled. "That is an understatement, Dr. Reid."

"Okay. I'll be home soon."

"Wait!"

"What?"

"Don't you want to know what kind to buy?"

"I know what kind you use."

"You do?"

"I've seen the box in the cabinet."

Pause. "Oh. Okay."

"Do you need anything else?"

"Yes. I need you to come home and rip all my clothes off."

He grinned. "I had no idea that my knowledge of your personal habits would be such an aphrodisiac."

"A man who pays attention? Yeah, that's a turn-on."

"I also know your sizes and measurements. I could walk into any Victoria's Secret and buy you something that would fit you without tormenting the saleslady."

"Stop it. I can't control myself."

"I know that you like Aveeno body lotion and you buy your eye makeup at Sephora."

"This is the weirdest phone sex I've ever had."

"This is phone sex?" Reid said, frowning. A woman passing him in the bar supplies aisle gave him a disapproving look. "It's a little different than I imagined."

"Just pay for the damn groceries and get your sexy self home."

"On my way," he said, and hung up. He went a couple of aisles over and got what Emily had asked for, then headed for the checkout with all due haste.

He unloaded his cart onto the conveyor belt. The man behind him put a divider down and started unloading his own purchases. He gave Reid a smirk of male bonhomie. "Got sent on a wifely errand, huh, buddy?" he said.

Reid glanced at him. "Grocery shopping is what I'd call a mutually beneficial errand."

The man blinked. "Sure. Whatever." The man's eyes dropped, then widened as he spied Reid's sidearm in its holster underneath his jacket. "You always pack heat to go grocery shopping?"

"I'm an FBI agent."

The man peered at him. "You're shitting me." Reid wordlessly pulled out his badge and showed it to him. "Damn. Guess you are."

"Law enforcement officers are required to be armed in public," Reid recited. "I try to be a little more subtle about it when I'm not on duty."

"My wife would freak out if I had to wear a gun all the time."

Reid smiled. "My wife wears a gun, too. We work for the same employer."

"Damn," the man said, looking impressed. "That's hot."

"Can I ask you something?" Reid said.

"Sure."

"Would you find it embarrassing to buy tampons for your wife?"

The cashier snorted laughter. The man looked bemused. "Well, uh…I guess I've kinda gotten used to it, but at first, yeah, it was really embarrassing."

"But why?"

The man thought for a moment. "I don't really know. Just cause it's girl stuff, I suppose. I'd be just as embarrassed if she wanted me to buy her one of those trashy romance novels."

The cashier was giving Reid his total. He handed her his debit card. "I'd think the tampons would be less embarrassing. At least no one could think they were for you."

The man chuckled. "That's a good point."

"Would you think your wife would be embarrassed to buy you 'guy' stuff? Shaving cream or…" Reid was having a hard time thinking of 'guy' stuff. "I don't know. Boxer shorts?"

"I guess not. I never thought about it like that."

The cashier sighed. "It's obvious, guys. Women aren't embarrassed to buy guy stuff, because it's okay for a woman to have guy stuff. But it's not okay for a guy to have girl stuff. It's a double standard. No one laughs if a woman likes sports, but a guy gets made fun of if he likes romantic movies." She shook her head. "It's part of the sexist fabric of society."

Reid and his grocery-buying compatriot looked at each other, then at her. "I like romantic movies," Reid said.

"Yeah, well – no one's going to make fun of you. You're armed," the cashier said.

* * *

_Dallas, Texas  
Saturday, 3:00 pm – 20 hours missing_

__

* * *

_  
_

 

Reid sat in what had become his chair in the conference room, his eyes on the monitor while his mind wandered a little. He'd been remembering the one and only time Emily had asked him to buy her tampons at the grocery store. His attitude about the chore had impressed her so much that when he got home, she'd been waiting at the door wearing her tightest, skimpiest workout clothes, flushed and glowing from a quick ten minutes on the treadmill. He'd made it abundantly clear, once he could breathe and focus his eyes again, that he'd buy tampons for her any time if this was the response he got.

"Reid," Hotch said. He got up and joined him, JJ and Gideon. "We're discussing the idea of holding a press conference."

"Why?"

"The media is making up their own story at this point," JJ said. "It's getting out of hand. One story has Harmon suspected of already having fled the country. One report said that we'd found our missing agent chained in a basement, another said that we'd found her dead."

"What's the benefit in giving the media the truth?" Reid said. "It would be better for Harmon to have no idea where we really are and what we're doing."

"The real story may enable the public to help," Gideon said. "Someone may have seen him, or have interacted with him recently in some way that'll help us."

"I think the slim chance of that isn't worth risking Harmon getting spooked by intense media scrutiny. It's better if he thinks he's getting away with it, that nobody's anywhere close to finding him." He looked at JJ. "What if we hold the press conference, but feed them disinformation? Tell them – I don't know, that we now suspect that Harmon's ditched his hostage and we expect to hear from her soon. He'll know that isn't true, he'll think we're on the wrong track."

"Or he'll think we're lying to mask how close we are to finding him," JJ said. "That's the way his mind works."

Hotch nodded. "JJ's right. I think it's best to say nothing. Public assistance isn't going to give us much to go on. We're already talking to anyone Harmon's had personal or business dealings with in the last year." He looked at Reid. "Are you ready to talk to Nathan?"

Reid crossed his arms. "I can't."

"Reid…"

"Hotch, I have to be honest. I'm standing here and telling you that I'm not in control of myself enough to talk to him. It won't help anybody for me to go in there now."

Hotch nodded. "All right. I'm going to send Rossi in. Nathan doesn't know him, it might put him off-balance, get something new out of him."

* * *

Rossi entered the room where Nathan Harris was still sitting. He'd been allowed his journal and was bent over it, writing intently in tiny, architectural lettering. He looked up when Rossi entered, then frowned when he didn't recognize him.

"Nathan, I'm Agent Rossi. I work with Dr. Reid and the rest of the team."

Nathan sat back, closing his journal, and crossed his arms. "Where's Agent Gideon?"

"He's working on something else right now. Do you mind if we talk?" Nathan shrugged diffidently. "Thanks. Before I start, is there anything you want to talk about? Any questions you have?"

Nathan blinked and fidgeted. "Is Agent Prentiss gonna be okay?"

"I hope so. So far she is."

"How do you know that?"

"We can see her on Kurt's surveillance system. Our analyst was able to hack into it. She used the file paths from when you sent him videos of the boys you killed to ping through to Kurt's satellite."

Nathan smiled a tight little smile. "Good."

"You're not really concerned about Agent Prentiss though, are you, Nathan?"

That diffident shrug again. "I wouldn't want her to get hurt. Dr. Reid would be upset, I guess."

"Yes, he would." Rossi let that lie there for a moment. He'd come in intending to let Nathan lead him where he wanted to go. He wasn't quite sure what else Nathan could give them, but he had a feeling there was more.

Nathan stared down at his fingers, torn and bloody from biting. "I guess he must love her a lot, huh?"

"Is that a question?"

Nathan leaned forward and crossed his arms on the edge of the table. "It's just not what I thought."

"What isn't?"

"You know."

"You thought that Dr. Reid was a loner, like you."

Nathan looked up, sharply. "He isn't like me! He doesn't fantasize about stabbing women."

"No. But you thought he was like you in other ways. And you can't imagine having a relationship like that, a committed one, so he must not be so much like you after all, right?"

A quick glance into Rossi's eyes and Nathan's gaze was back to the tabletop. "I tried to be like him. How can I be like him now?"

"He's not a different person just because he got married, you know."

"But he is. He's somebody who could do that. I'm not. Kurt said I couldn't ever be like Dr. Reid, that I should just try and be like me instead."

Rossi nodded. "That sounds like pretty good advice to me."

"I can't be like me. I don't want to be like me."

"Is that why you killed those boys?"

"I told Agent Gideon why I did that."

Rossi leaned back and crossed one knee over the other, trying another tack. "I'd like to hear more about Kurt."

"Yeah. I thought you would. I really don't know where he's hiding. He's like that, though. He makes plans. Stashes things for later. Hangs onto things just in case. If he has some bunker or something I wouldn't be surprised."

"Kurt liked to camp, didn't he?"

Nathan frowned. "How'd you know that?"

"A man with his kind of power issues would enjoy a pastime like camping, where he has to prove his ability to control nature and deal with inhospitable environments. He'd see himself as bending nature to his will. Taking food and shelter from it as he wished."

"Yeah, he likes to camp. And he camps rough. Sometimes he doesn't even take a tent. He told me once he went out for a week in the woods with nothing but a canteen and a knife. I don't know if I believe him, though. He likes to brag."

"Well, if he didn't do it, he fantasized about it. Where did he like to go?"

"All over. I don't remember the place names. He kept saying he'd take me, but I don't like camping."

Rossi nodded. "Do you think he'd take a phone call from you?"

"What, now?"

"Well, if he answered we might be able to narrow down his location. Triangulate where he is by pinging the nearby cell towers."

"I don't know. Does he know you guys have me?"

"He must have figured we'd find you. But even if he knows, I think he might not be able to resist talking to you, and to us, too. What he's doing now to Agent Prentiss is at least partially to punish Dr. Reid. He might not be able to pass up a chance to rub it in our faces."

Nathan fidgeted. "What would I say to him?"

Rossi pressed his lips together. "You won't have to say anything. We don't need you, Nathan. Just your phone."

* * *

_Somewhere in Texas  
Saturday, 4:00 pm – 21 hours missing_

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Emily had devised a new method of coping. It was working pretty well. What she did was imagine herself in two years.

She imagined that she would still be single. She couldn't fathom even thinking about meeting someone new that soon. She would prefer not to use the word "widow." She would not shy away from the topic, but she wouldn't bring it up. When people would ask her about her husband, she'd simply say that he had died. By then, she'd be able to say it calmly, and accept their polite condolences with a smile and no further elaboration.

She'd have gotten her wedding rings back and would never take them off. She would wear Spencer's on a chain around her neck. She wouldn't keep a shrine. She would be practical about it. But she would keep a few of his clothes, her favorites, and give the rest to Goodwill. She would keep his messenger bag, and maybe by this time, she would be able to use it herself. She would imagine him smiling at her every time she slung it across her chest.

She would keep the picture of her and Spencer that was currently on her desk at work. It was the closest thing they had to a wedding photo; JJ had snapped it at the Bellagio in one of the clubs where the group had eventually ended up that night. They were bright in the photo, lit up by the flash, everything dark around them. They had their arms around each other, and they were both beaming. She loved that photo. That would be the one to stay on her desk.

She had another picture of him that she'd keep closer. Maybe in her wallet. She'd taken it herself. They'd been at JJ and Will's for Henry's birthday. Spencer had been doing magic tricks for Henry and Jack, sitting on the ground underneath the big oak tree in their backyard. The late afternoon sunlight had played across his face and she'd had to capture the moment. He hadn't known she had the camera out, her zoom lens getting just his face, catching it in a broad smile. She'd had the photo printed in black and white. He was so beautiful in it that it made her heart hurt just to think about it. That photo sat in a frame on her bedside table. From now on, it was going to be with her, wherever she went.

She would visit Diana twice a year. Diana would pretend not to remember that her son was dead, and would tell Emily stories from his childhood. Emily would tell her stories from their too-brief life together, the cases they'd worked, the places they'd gone, the things they'd shared. They would find comfort in each other. She would give Diana his pocket watch. She would take care of her. She'd be her daughter, even though she could never replace Diana's son.

She would be calm in her sadness by then. The grief would not still be so sharp as it was now, sharp enough to slice her flesh down to the bone, too sharp to touch. In two years it would have dulled to a low throb that would run underneath everything, but would be bearable. Perhaps it would come and go, and there would even be days when she was free of it. She'd think of him every day, and some days it would bring her sadness, but other days it might bring her joy to remember who he'd been, and the times they'd had together. In two years she could think about moving on. She could see that time in her mind's eye. A time when she could have lunch with friends, read a book, see a movie without everything reminding her of him. When she could concentrate on work, live in their house, exist in the shadow of what their life was supposed to have been without it blotting out the sun.

She pictured that Emily. Two-years-from-now Emily. And she put herself in that time.

It almost worked. It worked well enough to clear her head.

She knew what she had to do. She had a plan for Harmon.

_Oh yes. Lola has a plan for you, you son of a bitch. You're going to pay for it. You won't see it coming. You'll think you've got me right where you want me, but you never will. I will be in control the whole time and you will fall for it because you want to. And I'm not going to arrest you. When the team finds us, you'll be dead and I will laugh. Your life is a sad, sorry compensation for his life. It won't come close to making up for it. You'd have to die slowly over days and weeks and months, in terrible pain, to make up for it, and even then you can't repay the life you took. But I'm taking yours anyway._

_I know it's my duty as a federal agent to uphold the law, to arrest you. I don't care. It's my duty as a woman to avenge the murder of the only man I ever really loved._


	28. Chapter 28

_Eugene, Oregon  
one year, seven months ago_

 

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Reid wasn't surprised when there was a knock on his hotel room door around ten o'clock. He'd been waiting for it. He opened it and there was Emily, looking furtive and uncomfortable. They'd decided to tell their teammates about their relationship two weeks before, but hadn't yet done so. Everything was still on the down low. "I know," she said, quietly. "I shouldn't be here."

"Come in before someone sees you," he said, taking her by the elbow and pulling her inside.

He secured the chain on the door and turned around, only to find himself suddenly with his arms full of Prentiss. She pressed herself close to him, her arms around his waist. She took a deep breath and let it out. "I had to see you."

"I'm glad you came," he said, holding her. He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I've been waiting for you."

She pulled away, trying to be unobtrusive about brushing at the corners of her eyes. "Quite a day," she said, sitting down on the bed.

"Better than some."

She shook her head. "I knew it would happen eventually. You just can't help yourself, can you? You just have to get into trouble."

"I don't know if 'trouble' is the correct term."

"Going in unarmed to talk down a man holding a shotgun on a pregnant woman sounds like trouble to me." She lifted her eyes to his. "I've seen you do that crap before. I watched you walk into the street with Owen Savage. It's just – it's the first time you've been in big hairy danger since – well, you know."

"Yeah," he said. He sat down next to her and laced their fingers together. "At least I had permission this time."

"I feel like I want to be mad that you didn't talk to me before you volunteered for that, but then I feel like I don't have the right to expect that you should."

"I think you have the right to some expectations."

"So you're saying I should go ahead and be mad?" She was smiling a little.

"I'd prefer it if you weren't mad, but if you're mad then we'll deal with it."

"I'm not mad. I'm too glad you're all right to be mad." She met his eyes. "Do you know how it felt when we heard that shotgun blast? When we thought he might have shot you? It felt like I couldn't breathe."

"I don't know what to say to that. I'm not used to other people having feelings like that about me."

She put her hand on his cheek. "I love you." Her smile broadened. "I like being able to say that out loud. I could get used to it."

"I could get used to hearing it," he said.

She slid closer and leaned her head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her. "It's kind of a bitch, you know? This being in love thing. It makes everything complicated."

"I know."

"I guess this is why agents aren't supposed to date each other."

Reid blinked. "Are you breaking up with me?"

She lifted her head, eyes wide. "No! God, no. It's just hard to keep my focus and my professional attitude and not give it away that I'm terrified that my secret lover is about to get his head blown off."

"He didn't hurt me."

"He could have."

"But he didn't."

"But he could have."

"Isn't obsessing about catastrophic eventualities usually my job?"

"I really like your head where it is, on your shoulders, whole and intact."

"I'm rather partial to it that way myself. But it's over."

"I'll just be glad when they know."

"So let's tell them. Let's get them together and tell them right now."

She sighed. "I'm not up for all that drama tonight. Enough drama for one night. Let's do it tomorrow."

"We'll be too busy with paperwork tomorrow."

"All right. But soon."

"Yes. Soon." He leaned in and kissed her, slow and gentle as he knew she liked, letting her pull his mouth into a harder, more forceful kiss. Her hand slid over his thigh, then between his legs. He covered it with his own, stilling it. "We shouldn't."

She pulled back. "I know. I just – I really wish we could have sex tonight."

"We said…"

"No sex on the road. I know." She tilted her head back in and recaptured his mouth, sucking on his lower lip in a way that drove him crazy. Her hand was still on his fly, moving again now, gripping and stroking him through his pants.

"Emily – this isn't helping," he gasped out between kisses, his fingers flexing on her lower back, itching to move to her breasts or her ass.

She nodded, then stood up. "I better go back to my room before I jump you anyway, rules or no rules."

"Yeah. Wouldn't that be a tragedy," he said, glumly.

She smiled and leaned over him, cupping his face and kissing him again. "I just had to reassure myself you were okay."

He looked up at her, this woman who was quickly becoming his whole world. "I'm okay as long as I have you," he said, surprising himself with the atypically forthright statement.

Her eyes went tender. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For trusting me enough to tell me something like that."

"How about this? I love you."

She nodded. "I could get used to hearing that."

* * *

_Dallas, Texas  
Saturday, 4:00 pm – 21 hours missing_

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Garcia had set up a separate monitor with only the video feed showing Emily and moved it to a small table in the corner of the conference room so Reid could sit and watch her without being in the middle of traffic. Even though he wasn't technically on the case, he'd tried to help with other things. Read a report, or glance over some credit card statements. It wasn't any use. He couldn't take his eyes away for more than a few seconds before they were dragged back to the screen to check on her.

Since her tears after Harmon's horrible pronouncement, she'd been sitting quietly, but her posture had changed. She was slumped, defeated, without energy or agency. Something about it wasn't right, he couldn't put his finger on it. Reid didn't quite know what was going on in her mind, but he knew she had a plan.

He was trying not to think about the fact that she thought he was dead. If their positions were reversed, and he was the one who thought she was dead, he could imagine how he'd feel only too well. The insecure core of him thought that she couldn't possibly feel as bad as he would feel, because there was no way she felt as strongly about him as he did about her. He told himself that wasn't true. Lord knew she got mad enough at him when he hinted at it. But it was cold and hard and ossified down there at the bottom of his soul, where things took a long time to thaw. A year of dating and another year of marriage wasn't quite long enough – actually, it wasn't remotely long enough – for him to believe it down to the tarry, poisonous depths.

He knew she was in pain. He knew she was grieving. He hated having to sit here and look at her knowing those things and being unable to do anything to tell her the truth, to make it better. The only thing that helped was the knowledge that they would find her, and he'd be able to put his arms around her and she'd know that he was alive and they were both okay.

A shadow fell across him. He looked up and saw Bullock standing there, holding a cup of coffee. "Brought you this," he said, handing it to him.

Reid took it, surprised. "Thanks," he said. He took a sip and his eyebrows went up. It was extra sweet with cream, just how he liked it.

Bullock noted his surprise. "I notice things too, Dr. Reid." He sat down in a chair next to the table. "How you doin there?" Reid sighed, shaking his head, unable to put words to it. Bullock nodded. "Yeah, that's bout what I thought. Look, I know you and me didn't get off on the right foot. Naw, you been polite bout it, but I been feelin bad. You and yer team here look at stuff every day that I see maybe once a year, if that, and you put yourselves right on the line. But we're gonna catch this guy, y'hear? Yer friends here – I'm good at my job but damn. You got some sharp minds here with ya."

Reid nodded. "I know."

"It's gonna be okay, Stretch."

Reid looked at the man's ruddy face and was absurdly touched. "Thanks," he said. A thought occurred to him. "Is it Saturday?"

"Sure is."

Reid sighed. "I was supposed to meet a friend tonight. I forgot to call him and tell him I can't make it."

"He a good friend?"

"Yeah. We meet once every few weeks to play Go." He saw Bullock's lack of recognition. "It's a really complicated board game. He's the only other person I know who plays it so I guess we bonded over that."

"If he's a good friend, he'll understand."

"I should call him, though. At least send an email." Reid wondered why he was fixating on this just now. Chaz would know that the team was still in Dallas, he wouldn't wonder where Reid was, and yet Reid suddenly felt like he had to call him.

_Maybe just to talk to somebody who has no connection to anything that's going on right now._

Rossi came into the conference room. "Detective," he said. Bullock jumped up. "Nathan confirmed that Harmon liked to camp. You need to go back to his house and see if you can find anything that might indicate his favorite spots."

"No shortage of campin' round here."

"I know. Look for guidebooks, trail passes, receipts from park fees, maps – anything."

"Yeah, I gotcha." He went out the door.

"Nathan said we could use his phone to put in a call to Harmon," Rossi said. "If he answers, we can triangulate his position, right, Garcia?"

She turned from her monitors. "Maybe. But not now."

"Why not now?"

"His phone's not on. I'm watching it, I'll know when it turns on, we can try that then."

"You think he'll pick up?" Morgan said. "He has to know Nathan's with us."

"He won't pass up the chance to interact with us," Hotch said. "Especially if he thinks he's holed up where he can't be found."

Reid was half-listening to this while he watched Emily. On the screen, she sat up a little straighter, and a second later he realized why – the chain was retracting again. "Guys," he said. "Harmon's coming back in."

Garcia put the feed from Emily's camera on the big monitor. Reid got up to join the rest of the team, all of them huddling in a small cluster, every eye on the monitor and the scene unfolding there. Reid's stomach was a twisted, roiling mass of stress. Emily resumed her slump against the wall. Reid noted the change in her posture and filed it away.

Harmon entered the chamber. He pulled out the same chair from his first visit and positioned it in front of Emily's cot. He didn't say anything. He just sat there and watched her.

Gideon made a frustrated sound in his throat. "He's trying to make her uneasy."

"Oldest trick in the book," Morgan muttered.

"Shh," Reid said.

Emily sighed and sat up a little more. Her whole body language was saying tired, defeated, hopeless. Reid frowned at the screen. That wasn't what he would have expected from her. "What do you want?" she asked.

Harmon let another pregnant pause dangle before speaking. "How are you?"

She shook her head. "You don't care how I am."

"On the contrary, I'm very interested."

"You might as well kill me too, I'm already dead."

Reid's eyes narrowed. He was getting more and more suspicious of Emily's behavior.

Harmon didn't reply, he just sat and watched her for a moment. Finally he got up, and put his chair back where he'd gotten it. He reached into his other pocket, the one on the side away from the camera, and pulled out a gun.

Everyone went rigid. Reid thought his heart might have stopped right in his chest. He barely felt JJ clutch at his arm. His guts took another sickening twist.  _Oh, God, please no._

Harmon wasn't lifting the gun or pointing it at Emily. Somehow, she was still sitting slumped and defeated, barely reacting to the weapon. "Stand up," Harmon said. Reid's whole body was clenched. If this man shot Emily he didn't know what he would do. Maybe die right here on the spot.

No one was breathing. On the monitor, Emily got up, leaning awkwardly over the cot because her wrist was chained close to the wall. Keeping the gun at his side as an unspoken threat for her not to try anything, Harmon carefully moved around her and pulled the cot away from behind her and off into the corner. Emily backed up to the wall, almost cringing away from Harmon. He pulled a pair of handcuffs out of his pocket, stepped to her side and cuffed her free wrist to a D-ring set into the cinderblocks, pinning her with her back to the wall.

He stepped back in front of her and pocketed the gun again now that she was secured and couldn't do anything more lethal than kicking him in the shins. He cocked his head and contemplated her. "What's your name?" he asked.

Emily frowned. "You know it."

Harmon shrugged. "I'd just like to hear you say it."

Reid glanced at Rossi, standing on his other side, who looked just as puzzled as he was. "I don't know what he's after," Rossi murmured.

Emily complied, her voice filled with resignation. "My name is Emily Prentiss."

Without any warning, Harmon hit Emily across the face backhand, hard. Emily's head crashed back into the wall and she lurched violently to one side.

Reid felt like he'd been zapped with a cattle prod. He jerked and sucked in a fast, shocked breath. His left arm gave a spasmodic flail and his hand grabbed hold of the first thing it touched, which turned out to be Rossi's sleeve. He felt JJ's hand clamp tight on his arm and sensed the rest of the team wincing around him. He didn't say anything, he was too busy watching, trying to memorize every detail, notice every flinch, every word, every move Harmon made.

Emily recovered quickly, straightening up again. She didn't ask why he'd done that.

Harmon looked cool and calm, as if nothing had happened. "Your name."

"She told you," Reid heard himself whisper.

"I told you," Emily said, echoing him. "I told you." Her voice sounded a little clogged.

"Say it again."

"Emily Prentiss," she said, sounding unsure, as if this were the wrong answer.

Harmon hit her again, with a closed fist this time and on the other side of her face. That jolt ran up Reid's spine again. He could almost feel the blow on his own body. Emily fell to the side again, nearly losing her footing, but scrambled back to an upright position. He could see her chest heaving. "Goddamn you, stop hurting her, just stop it," he said through clenched teeth. He could feel someone's hand squeezing his shoulder now, it felt like Morgan. Everyone had moved closer to him, huddling around like they were shielding him from having to watch this. If they couldn't protect Emily right now, they'd protect him.

"What do you want me to say?" Emily cried, ragged and hoarse.

"Just your name."

"I said it twice!" she shouted.

Harmon punched her in the stomach. She coughed and doubled over as far as she could with her hands chained at chest level.

A choked heave escaped Reid's throat.  _I can't do this, I can't stand here and watch him beat her senseless._

_You have to. It's how you're going to catch him, because he's showing himself right now. So you'll butch up, as she'd say, and you'll do it for her._

"That's not the name he wants to hear," Reid heard Gideon say. "Remember how he deferred to you and tried to play her emotions in your first interview?"

The light dawned. "He wants her to use her married name," Reid said. "She never took my name, it was never even discussed. Why would he care?"

"She represents something to him, not just something of you that he can attack but something else, someone strong he can demean, and that's a symbol of her independence," Hotch said.

"Just say it, Emily," Reid whispered. "Do what he wants."

Emily was staring at Harmon, her eyes darting about the room as if she was looking for an escape. She looked down, then raised her eyes again and Reid saw that she'd figured it out. "My name is Emily Reid," she gasped out, coughing a little from the blow to her stomach.

Harmon nodded. "Okay."

"Why?" she said, straightening up a little at a time.

"Is it so offensive to you? You can't give him even that amount of respect, especially now that he's gone?"

She shook her head. "I respected him more than anyone."

"Not enough to let the world know you belonged to him."

"I don't  _belong_  to him," she said, a little of her usual fire coming back into her face. Seeing it made Reid realize what was she was up to.  _Careful, Lola. You're slipping. Don't forget what you're doing._  She caught herself immediately and went back to slumped and defeated, but Harmon saw it. Reid braced himself to see him hit her again, but he didn't. Emily let out a half-sob. "I wish I had taken his name," she said.

"It's too late now, isn't it?" Harmon said.

She leaned against the cinderblocks, her expression blank and dead. "There's nothing more you can do to me," she said.

"We both know that isn't true."

Emily didn't respond, just looked at him with that same blank look in her eyes. Harmon stayed for a moment, then turned and left the room, leaving her chained there. It would further weaken her to stay like that, Reid realized. She couldn't sit without pulling her arms from her sockets. She'd have to stand – and he still hadn't given her any food or water.

He relaxed slightly once Harmon was gone. "Jesus," JJ said, sounding miserable and frustrated. "Spence, are you okay?"

He nodded. "Yeah. And so is she."

"She looks so – beaten down," Morgan said.

Reid turned to face them. "No, she isn't." He took a deep breath. "She's playing him."

Everyone stared at him like he was nuts. "Did you see him? Did you see her?" Morgan said.

"Yes, Morgan, I saw them both. That wasn't the Emily I know. Before Harmon entered she was sitting slumped like she didn't have the energy to do anything else. The real Emily would be alert and trying to take everything in, but she knows he must be watching her, so she's putting on a show of being completely destroyed by my death."

"I'm sure she  _is_  destroyed, Spence," JJ said, gently.

"Be that as it may, she'd put that aside for now, except she knows Harmon wants her destroyed, so she plays destroyed. When she heard him coming she perked up just for a second, then went back to slumped over. Did you hear what she said? 'You might as well kill me, I'm already dead.' Emily would never say that. She'd never  _feel_  that. If Harmon killed me she'd be sad, she'd be angry, but she wouldn't feel her life was over."

"Are you sure, sweetie?" Garcia said, her first contribution. She still looked gray and sick from seeing Emily beaten.

"I'm sure," he said. "You think we haven't talked about this? About what would happen if one of us died in the line?"

"It's one thing to talk about it, it's another to have it happen."

"She wouldn't feel that way. She wouldn't react that way. I'm telling you guys. She's figured out what Harmon wants. She knows he wants to see how low he can take her. So she's playing it like he's succeeding, like he's beating her down. She wants him to feel like he's winning so he'll get complacent. If he wants her to kill herself, eventually he'll have to give her the means to do so, and he'll only do that when he's sure she's beaten down enough not to turn it against him."

"What if he gives her pills or something?" JJ said.

Gideon shook his head. "No, he wouldn't. Pills are a woman's suicide. No, when he wants her to do it, my guess is he'll give her a weapon. A knife or a gun. He'll take some precautions, but if she does a job of convincing him she's ready to end it all, he won't be ready for her to act."

"You believe me?" Reid asked him.

"Yes," Gideon said. "She slipped up for a second when she said she didn't belong to you."

"I saw that, too. She caught herself, but I think Harmon saw."

"He'll come after her again later. He'll give her time to stew, time to get tired and for her body to start to feel the strain of standing upright like that. But he'll come after her again," Gideon went on.

Reid grit his teeth. "Then let's find her first." He shook his head. "I can't – I can't let him hurt her again," he said, the tears he'd so far managed to avoid threatening to ambush him right here in the conference room. The horror of seeing her beaten – it had been bad enough when Benjamin Cyrus had beaten her, and that was before he'd loved her, and he hadn't had to watch it happen. It rose in his throat like bile and poisoned each breath with accusations of  _you didn't protect her, you're supposed to protect her, you're supposed to have found her by now, aren't you the big fucking genius man?_  He put a hand over his eyes and took a few deep breaths. He felt JJ's hand on his back.

"It's okay, Spence."

Quiet in the room. He could feel their eyes on him, their sympathetic eyes. Then out of nowhere, Garcia's voice. "Reid, can I ask you something?" she said.

He took a deep breath and lowered his hand. He met her eyes. "What?"

"Why do you call her 'Lola'?"

That had been the last thing he'd expected to hear, and it was enough of a surprise that it took him a moment to process her question. The rest of the team were exchanging bemused glances. Garcia just looked expectant. Reid shook his head, chuckling quietly as the tears retreated once more – for now. "We had a bet, you know. About which of you would be the first to ask about the Lola thing. My money was on you, Garcia. Emily said it'd be Morgan. So now she owes me – well, something," he said. Garcia smiled.

Reid sat down, suddenly too tired to stand anymore, trying not to think of how tired Emily must be and how she couldn't sit down like this. "It came out of a conversation we had a few months before we were married. I'm not the most alpha of males, and I told her that each of us being who we are, it was more like she'd clubbed  _me_  over the head and dragged me back to  _her_  cave." Everyone chuckled quietly. Reid looked up at Garcia again. "I call her Lola when she's being particularly possessive or bossy. You know, from the song? Whatever Lola wants, Lola gets." He sighed and looked down at his folding and unfolding fingers. "My Lola is fierce, and she's tough. I love that about her. Right now she's having to bury it so Harmon thinks he's getting to her, and that has to be one of the hardest things for her to do."

Garcia nodded, smiling with tears on her cheeks. She came over to his side, put her hand on his head and planted a kiss in his hair. "You two kill me, you know that?" she murmured.

The moment passed, but Reid felt better. A little more centered. "Okay," Hotch said. "We have work to do. Garcia, stay on Harmon's cell phone, we need to make the call the minute he's turned it on. Keep searching the footage for any clues to that building's construction or its location. Rossi, check in with Bullock at Harmon's house. Gideon, keep working with Nathan Harris. He says he wants to help, there may be things he knows but doesn't know he does. We might consider taking him to Harmon's house, it might stir something. JJ, Morgan, we're going to work with Garcia and start tracking down people in his past he may have influenced. It's interesting that none of them seem to have identified him as influencing them to commit their crimes, if in fact he did. One of them may know something Nathan doesn't. Concentrate on any that may be in this area. I doubt Harris was the first, Harmon's lived here most of his life." Marching orders given, the group dispersed.

"Hotch? What can I do?" Reid asked.

"You can stay with Emily, Reid. I think you just proved that she needs you, even if she doesn't know you're watching."


	29. Chapter 29

_Dallas, Texas  
Saturday, 7:00 pm – 23 hours missing_

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* * *

_  
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Afternoon slowly gave way to evening. Nathan Harris was left in the interrogation room, but he didn't seem to mind as long as he had his journal. Everyone had a job to do, everyone was working on the task at hand.

Everyone but Reid. His job was to watch Emily. Good thing, too, because that was all he wanted to do. He watched her stand there against the wall, chained at both wrists now. He watched her shift her weight and fidget as her feet and legs got tired. For awhile she propped herself against the wall, bracing her feet out in front of her a little, but she couldn't hold that for too long. She squatted as far as she could, but her hands strained at their bonds and she soon stood up again. He imagined that her put-on affect of tired and hopeless was becoming less a put-on and more of a reality.

Gideon came in from another session with Nathan and joined him, pulling up a chair without a word. Reid glanced at him, then returned his attention to the screen. "Anything from Nathan?"

Gideon shook his head. "He doesn't know where this place is. Harmon's not the type to share unless it furthers his agenda. Rossi's talking to him now about Harmon's other victims, if you can call them that. If he manipulated so many, I'm curious why it is that no one ever accused him of it."

"If he did his job well, they all probably thought the impulse for their crimes came from them," Reid said. "And even if they did accuse him, emotional manipulation isn't a crime unless he committed an outwardly coercive act, like a bribe or a threat, and he's too smart for that."

"Possibly." A long, awkward silence fell. Reid could tell Gideon was working up to something. He wasn't about to ease things along for him. "I'm sorry we didn't get a chance to talk at Elle's funeral," Gideon finally said.

Reid spared him an 'are you kidding me' glance. "We didn't talk because I didn't want to talk to you."

"I understand that."

"I wonder if you do."

He was quiet again for a moment. "I'm proud of you," he said, softly. Almost under his breath.

Sudden anger flooded Reid. "You know what, Jason? Save your pride for someone who needs it. I don't spend every minute of every day hoping I have your approval. I don't do what I do so that you'll be proud of me."

"I know that," Gideon said, backing off a little. "Spencer – I'm sorry."

"You really think this is the best time for this conversation?" he said.

"There's never a bad time for an apology."

Reid shrugged. "You did what you had to do. You were hardly the first person to burn out working in the BAU. It wasn't personal. I accepted that a long time ago."

"I'm sorry I've missed so much. Hotch told me you were shot a few years ago."

"It wasn't so bad."

"He said your knee will never really be the same."

"It's not like I was planning to go out for the Boston Marathon. Did Hotch happen to mention what happened to  _him_  at that same time? It was a thousand times worse than my stupid knee."

Gideon sat back in his chair. "I'm not going to get a break here, am I?"

Reid shifted, feeling a little guilty. He sighed. "I'm sorry. I know what you're trying to do and I'm not making it easy. And I do appreciate your help. But I need to focus on Emily right now. If you're here to help, then help. If you're here to make something up to me, save it for a time when my wife isn't being held hostage by a ruthless killer."

Gideon just nodded. They sat in silence for a long time, Reid's eyes never leaving the monitor. "She's strong," Gideon finally said.

"You don't have to tell me that," Reid murmured. He could feel Gideon watching him.

_Let it go, Spencer. You think he wanted to abandon you?_  he heard Emily say.

_Well, yes. If he hadn't wanted to, he wouldn't have done it._

_You think he stopped caring what happens to you, or how you're doing? Look at him._

_I don't want to count on him again. I don't want to feel deserted by him again. I don't want to need him again._

_You can have a relationship with him and not be so co-dependent all the time._

_Oh, cut it out with the Psych 101 buzzwords._

_Stop negating what I'm saying by attacking the way I'm saying it. I hate it when you do that._

_Damn. I wish you were here so we could have this argument in person._

_And now here we go with the avoidance. It's like a checklist with you._

_You're a lot shriller in my head than you are in reality, Mrs. Reid. I wonder what that says about the way I think of you._

_It says that you know I'll say the things you need to hear, even if you don't want to hear them. And it says that some part of you is aware that you need to have your ass kicked and I'm just the woman for the job. Which I am, as we both know._

_So what is it that I need to hear right now?_

_Talk to Gideon. Let him do for you what he came here to do. Let him take some of it off of you. Go ahead, let him work out his guilt a little. Forgive him. You say you have but you haven't. You want to do it, you know you do. You can't fool me._

_No. I really can't._

_So you'll do it?_

_Oh…all right._

_Good boy._

_Eww. Don't talk to me like you're my mother, please._

_Sorry._

_…_

_Spencer? You're not talking to Gideon. Or to me._

_Just…give me a minute._

_A minute for what?_

_Emily._

_Yes?_

_I love you so much I don't know what to do with it. I'm going to get you back. I swear._

_I know, honey. I never doubted it._

Reid glanced at Gideon. He was just sitting, his creased face piled into his neck and his lips pursed as he watched Emily on the monitor. Reid looked down at himself. He couldn't have been a more textbook example of closed-off body language. Arms and legs both crossed, shutting himself off from the world.

_Just tell him what you're feeling. That's a start._

"I'm scared," he said, breaking the long silence.

"I know," Gideon replied.

"I've never been this scared in my life. And I've been in some scary situations."

"Those were all times when you were afraid for your own life," Gideon said. "In my experience, our fear for someone we love is far worse than our fear for ourselves."

Reid nodded. "I'd trade my life for hers in a second."

"She'd never forgive you."

"It doesn't matter. She'd be alive." He sighed, then turned and looked at him. "Thank you for coming," he whispered.

Gideon's mouth curved into a small, beatific smile. "Thank  _you,_  Spencer."

* * *

Hotch convened the team at ten o'clock. He could see Reid's eyes wandering to the clock, marking the time, now well into Emily's second night as Harmon's captive. Emily had been standing, chained to the wall, for six hours now. She looked all right, but Hotch knew that by now she'd be in considerable discomfort. Her feet and legs would be sore, and her back would be next. She'd be dehydrated, and her face was bruised from Harmon's blows. Harmon had come into the room once to let her use the toilet, but he hadn't spoken to her, just uncuffed her, paid out her chain, waited for her to finish, and cuffed her back to the wall. At least it had been a moment's respite. Still no food or water. She was leaning against the cinderblocks, her head tipped back, shifting her weight around to take some of the stress off her feet and legs, but there was no position that could really accomplish that.

Everyone was starting to look drawn and haggard. Despite his resolution of last night, they had to get some sleep. It wouldn't help Emily to have a team of zombies trying to find her.

The team convened around the conference table. Reid stayed near his monitor, but turned his chair to face them. Hotch had been watching him all day without being too obvious about it. He hadn't eaten or slept either, but Hotch was under no illusions about his ability to get him to take a nap. He wouldn't leave Emily, no matter the inducement or his personal fatigue. Hotch understood his determination. It was one thing to know Emily was being held hostage. If it had been that alone, Reid might have been able to concentrate on something else. But when he could  _see_  her – that was a different story.

"All right," he said. "We need to go around and see where we are. Morgan?"

"JJ and I have been going back through Harmon's life, researching people he might have influenced to commit crimes. So far we've got one woman who worked in Harmon's department at McKinniss; she torched her ex-husband's house. She doesn't mention Harmon in the trial transcripts, although we talked to a couple of her friends who said that she and Harmon got weirdly close in the weeks before the fire. She's in prison, we can talk to her in the morning. We've got a neighbor of his from when he first moved to his current house who assaulted another neighbor with a framing hammer. They'd had an ongoing property dispute. The guy pled guilty and got a year's probation, they moved to Kansas City and we can't get a hold of them. JJ talked to the neighbor on the receiving end of the hammer. He sustained a broken arm. He remembers Harmon but doesn't remember if he and his attacker were friends, or if Harmon ever expressed any opinions about their dispute. It was kind of a neighborhood scandal at the time. We've got some calls in to other neighbors."

"That's it?" Rossi said.

"That's it," JJ said. "We're trying to track down some of the people Garcia found from earlier in his life, but that isn't likely to be helpful in finding Emily. If someone knows where his hideout is, it'll be someone he's known more recently. We can't locate any friends of his close enough to know more than superficial facts about him."

"Nathan says that Kurt wasn't a man who had friends," Gideon said. "He kept to himself. He said that it made him feel special that Kurt wanted to be  _his_ friend given that; I'm sure that's part of the point."

"Detective?" Hotch said, nodding to Bullock.

"Well, we been over Harmon's house. We found plenty a stuff for campin. Equipment, tents, portable stoves, weapons, that kind a thing. Guidebooks too, too many. Got one for just about every park and campin area in the state, and that's a lot. Seems to gravitate towards the rougher campin, the kind that ain't for beginners. Nothin that'll really help. I don't know how much his campin habits are gonna let us find Agent Prentiss."

"It might indicate that he's familiar with some out-of-the-way places where no one would think to look," Rossi said.

"But he's clearly got a building a some kind. Got at least six cameras ta cover it and don't none a their fields a vision overlap. So it ain't no one-room cabin. It's cinderblock and cement, like an industrial office or somethin. Ain't the kind a thing you find out in the middle a the woods."

He was right, was the thing. The camping angle might be a non-starter. "Garcia?"

"He hasn't turned his cell phone on. The minute he does we can make the call. No luck so far tracking down his server or tracing his signal."

"Speaking a Harris," Bullock said. "I had him moved ta lockup for the night. We only need his phone for that call, after all, not him in person. He's been sittin in that room all day," he said, casting a bit of a disapproving eye in Hotch's direction.

Hotch nodded. "All right. There's not much more he can tell us now, anyway." He looked around at his team. His tired, worried team. "Where are we, people?"

Morgan tossed a folder to the table. "Nowhere."

"I'm still working on backtracking properties and cars," Garcia said. "He had to get the car he swapped into from somewhere, and someone has to own the property where his hideout is."

"Not necessarily him," Rossi said. "He could be squatting."

"It doesn't look abandoned. It looks cared for. It has electricity and a satellite dish," JJ said.

"He could be doing that himself. But that would mean it's somewhere that nobody would see him coming and going and working on this supposedly-abandoned property."

Hotch shook his head. "He's somewhere remote. Somewhere not on a map. He could even be generating his own power, he might be off the grid entirely."

"No one's off the grid entirely," Garcia said, sounding determined. "I'm gonna find him, sir."

He smiled at her, grateful for her pitbull-like determination, unsurprising when one of her 'babies' was in danger. He looked over at Reid. "Reid? Anything to add?"

Reid looked over at the screen, then back at the group. "She's tired. He's not letting her sit and he's denying her food and water. That's a form of torture. She's okay for now but that won't last." He got up, hands in his pockets, and wandered over to the evidence board. A picture of Harmon hung there. He looked at it for a moment then turned to face them. "What's bothering me is that nothing we know about Harmon in the past applies to this situation. He's never directly interacted with a victim before," he said, swallowing hard over that word 'victim.' "He's spent his life manipulating others. Why the change? What caused him to escalate this significantly? What was stopping Harmon from killing before now?"

"Fear," Morgan said. "Fear of getting caught. He was unwilling to take risks."

"His whole life he's been unwilling to be the guy who accepts the responsibility," Rossi said. "He's adjacent to power but never in power. The buck's never stopped with him."

Reid nodded. "Except now it has. When he killed Elle, he crossed that line. He took that risk, and it was a pretty big risk. Killing a woman to whom he had a personal connection in her own home? Doesn't get much riskier than that as homicides go. Consider that he went from never being involved personally, to killing Elle in her home, to kidnapping an armed FBI agent from his own backyard with police and FBI all around him."

"Steep escalation," Morgan said.

"It's fitting for his arrogance. The slightest taste of success and it's like opening Pandora's box. He's got a hostage now. He's got the chance to…" Reid stopped for a moment, as if he'd just remembered that the hostage in question was his wife. "To do whatever he wants. I don't think we can predict his actions based on his past behavior. His desire to manipulate her into suicide might only be part of it, not even the most important part anymore. He doesn't need a reason. He doesn't need a plan. The structure that he's imposed on himself for years was shattered when he shot Elle. What he does now doesn't have to make sense to us, by now it's all about what he wants to do, what he needs to do. He's devolving." He scrubbed his hands over his face. "He's just going to get more and more dangerous with each minute that goes by and he isn't caught, every minute that he has her."

Hotch thought Reid was probably correct, and it only made what he was about to say even more difficult. "All right. I know it's hard, but we have to get some sleep." He held up a hand to forestall the protests he saw on every face. "We have to be at our best to help Emily. We're going to start going back to the hotel in shifts. Morgan, JJ and Rossi – you're up first. Go back to the hotel and get some sleep. That's an order and I do not want to see any of you back here before five. The rest of us will stay here and keep working. When you guys return, we'll go to the hotel and take a shift. Understood?" Reluctant nods all around. The designated sleepers gathered their things.

Reid had a thought. "Morgan," he said, fishing in his pocket. Morgan came walking over.

"What's up?"

"Here," he said, handing him his hotel room key. "Can you bring me a change of clothes when you come back? And a razor? I'd like to take a shower in the locker room. I feel kinda disgusting."

Morgan's eyes went sad. "Why don't you just come back with us? Grab a nap. You've gotta be more tired than any of us."

"No, I can't."

"Then just come back and take a shower there. You'll feel better. I'll bring you right back if that's what you want."

"No," Reid said, more sharply than he'd meant. He sighed. "Morgan, I appreciate it, but I can't leave. Okay?"

Morgan just nodded. "I'll bring you some things when I come back."

"Thanks." He returned his eyes to the monitor. Morgan lingered for a moment, then patted his shoulder and left with Garcia and Rossi.

Reid watched them go, fighting down resentment.

_How can they leave at a time like this? How can they sleep?_

_Ease off there, Cochise. They've all been up for thirty-six hours. So have you. Morgan's right, you could use some sleep yourself. Will it be helpful if you're so tired you can't even see straight?_

_I can't sleep. I won't be able to close my eyes without seeing her chained there, forced to stand, suffering – and thinking I'm dead._

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_Washington, D.C.  
ten months ago_

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* * *

_  
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The restaurant was busy, so they went to the bar to wait for their table. Emily ordered a gin and tonic. "Ginger ale," Spencer said.

"Whoa there, party animal."

"I'm driving tonight, I shouldn't drink."

She smiled fondly at him. "You're such a square."

"I like squares. They're regular, symmetrical and have elegant mathematical properties."

She shook her head. "Do you really mean it when you stay stuff like that, or are you just jerking everyone around?"

He glanced at her, one eyelid dipping in what might have been a very fast wink. "I'll let you wonder about that." She heard his cell phone ring.

"Spencer, I asked you to turn that off before we came in."

"I know, I forgot." He pulled it out. "Oh, it's that guy from Georgetown. I better get this. Be right back." He tossed her an apologetic look, then walked out of the bar for a quieter spot to take his call.

Emily sat at the bar and drank her gin and tonic. They were out on one of their once-a-month fancy-dinner dates, so she was dressed up. And sitting at the bar. Alone. It wasn't typical. She hoped no one would mistake her for a working girl.

_Emily, you're a little long in the tooth to be a working girl._

She had to smile at herself for even entertaining the thought. But it was a little uncomfortable. This wasn't the sort of place where a woman was often to be found alone at the bar. Hell, any minute now some guy could…

"Well, hey there, gorgeous."

She sighed and looked to her left. A guy in a suit, about three-quarters in the bag from the look (and smell) of him, was leaning toward her, leering at her with what he probably thought was a flirty, winning expression There was a gaggle of four more guys at a table behind the guy, watching him and chortling amongst themselves. She needed not even a full second's glance to know what they were. Lawyers, or policy wonks, or special-interest shills, or Congressional aides. They were all the same. Dripping with self-importance and bulldozing their way through the world, no finesse, no art. She'd met a thousand men like this one through her mother and through her own work. She thought wistfully of Spencer, somewhere in the lobby jabbering at a Georgetown professor about the paper they were collaborating on, Spencer who was so different from these men, Spencer who had faffed off and left her sitting alone at a bar like catnip. She could handle herself, but she'd rather not have had to. It was just so – tiresome.

"Hello," she said, as frostily as possible.

"You're way too pretty to be sitting here all – hic – by yourself."

"I'm not alone. I'm here with my husband."

"Oh yeah! Yeah, I see him! No wait, I don't." He leaned closer. "I bet you're here by yourself."

She lifted her left hand. "Nope. Husband."

"Aw now, don't be like that. Why don't you come have a drink with me and my friends? Maybe you can call a couple of  _your_  friends and…"

She'd had enough. "Get lost."

He put on that off-putting hurt/wounded expression. "Hey, that isn't nice. I'm just trying to get your name, honey."

"Did you not hear her tell you to get lost?" Spencer said, appearing at her shoulder. His tone was neutral-to-placating but Emily knew his body language and it told a different story.

The guy rolled his eyes. "Back off, Chess Club. This one's mine."

Emily's mouth dropped open. He must have been drunker than she thought. Spencer's eyebrow shot up. "No, I don't believe she is."

"Well, maybe I'll just sit right here until your made-up husband comes back," Drunk Boy said, readdressing himself to Emily.

"I'm her husband," Spencer said.

The guy goggled at him for a moment, then busted out into slurry laughter. "Pshyeah right, buddy!" Emily glanced past Drunk Boy to his compatriots, who were still watching, but now they looked a little apprehensive at their friend's excessive loutishness. Emily was sorely tempted to knee the guy somewhere tender but she didn't relish making a scene in a restaurant where they might someday wish to return, and she was a little curious as to how Spencer would react to this.

He stepped around her, inserting himself between her and Drunk Boy. They had a small audience by now; nearby patrons were eyeing the developing situation with wariness. "You know," Spencer said, "it's been shown that excessive male aggressiveness while inebriated has been linked to overcompensation for small genitalia." Drunk Boy's friends hooted laughter. His face reddened like a tomato. Emily heard someone behind her chortle. "Furthermore, accosting random women in bars and refusing to accept rejection is a symptom of borderline personality disorder, which can escalate into sociopathy. It's something we often see in men who are impotent and have little to no success with women."

Drunk Boy's friends were laughing uproariously by now. "You fucking pencil-neck little geek," the guy stammered. He made a clumsy, half-accidental swipe at Reid. Reid batted it aside easily, a measure of how clumsy the move was, since Spencer had many impressive skills, but self-defense wasn't one of them.

Emily stood up and pushed the man back with one hand on his chest. Self-defense  _was_  one of her skills. "Touch him again, or me, and I'll arrest you for assaulting a federal officer."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

As if they'd practiced it at home, they both withdrew their badges, simultaneously like it was a dance move. It would have made her laugh if it hadn't been so richly satisfying to see the color drain from Drunk Boy's face. "FBI, asshole," Spencer said, his friendly-professor attitude evaporated. "Walk away. Right now." The guy's friends had risen and they took their drunk friend by the arms and led him away. He slunk off, muttering to himself.

Emily put her badge back in her purse. Spencer turned toward her, his own going back in his inside jacket pocket. "Well, that was fun," he said, an aw-shucks expression on his face. She just looked at him. "What?"

"I am so hot for you right now," she said, pitching her voice low.

He flushed and took a step closer. "Oh yeah? Should I have pulled my gun on him?"

"Let's skip dinner, huh?"

He put his arm around her waist, his hand low on her back, his thumb making maddening little strokes over the fabric of her dress. "I think we should eat first. Sounds like I'm going to need the protein."

* * *

_Somewhere in Texas  
11:00 pm – 28 hours missing_

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* * *

_  
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Memories were holding it back. The pain, the discomfort, the agony not only of her body but of her heart. Hunger had been a problem all day but thirst was quickly leaving it in the dust. She hadn't appreciated how debilitating it would be to stand like this for hours on end with no relief. She would have thought she could handle it; she'd spent many a full day on her feet. But not really. There had always been the chance to sit for five minutes, or lean, or rest. No such chance was afforded her here. Her legs were throbbing and cramped, her lower back was pulsing with pain. Her throat was scratchy and her tongue was starting to swell up. She shut her eyes and conjured happy thoughts. Her first kiss. The first time she'd saved someone's life on the job. Her college graduation. Getting the news that she was being transferred to the BAU.

So many of her happiest memories involved Spencer. Her wedding day. Their first date at the observatory. The first time he told her he loved her. Those memories were double-edged swords. They brought her joy, but they only made it harder to push away the grief that would overwhelm her if she let it.

She imagined telling stories about him to some nameless, faceless listener who had infinite patience for her babbling.  _One time he told off a guy in a bar who wouldn't take no for an answer. Another time when he knew I was upset about a case he took me to a doggie day-care and we played with puppies all afternoon until I couldn't remember being upset. One time we were at work really late, almost midnight, and he had me meet him in the file storage room, and that was the one and only time we ever had sex at our workplace._

She let her head fall back against the cinderblock walls.  _Think about the good things. The things you did for him, the things he did for you, the things you did together. You'll never lose any of that. It's yours forever. There won't ever be any more, but that doesn't diminish what you've had._

If only she could convince herself that was true.  _It's just that there was supposed to be more. So much more._

_I can grieve him later. I'll spend the rest of my life grieving him. Right now I have to not think about it. He used to get after me about the Prentiss Lockdown; well, now I really need it. So lock down, Lola. Get out of this, and go back into the world and keep being the woman he fell in love with. That's the best memorial you can give him._


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a non-con trigger warning for this chap. No sexual assault occurs, though.

_Alexandria, Virginia  
two months ago_

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* * *

_  
_

 

Emily went to answer the door, frowning. It was nearly eleven o'clock at night, who could be knocking at this hour? She had half a mind to get her gun first, especially since she was in the house alone.

It turned out that it was a good thing she wasn't armed when she opened the door, because standing on the stoop was Derek Morgan, grinning like an idiot. He was half-carrying her husband, hanging onto his arm where it was slung around Morgan's shoulders. "Hey!" Morgan said, sounding pleased with himself. "Package for you!"

Spencer's head sort of rolled back and he saw her through half-closed eyes. He gave her a dopey smile. "Hi, Emily," he slurred. His head rolled toward Morgan. "She'ssss pretty," he said.

Emily raised an eyebrow at Morgan. "You got him  _drunk?_  I thought you guys were playing poker with your gym buddies again!"

"Whooooo," Spencer said. "Those guys can  _drink._ "

"I did not get him drunk," Morgan said, sounding only marginally more sober than Spencer did. Spencer's drunk-talking was unabashedly slurred and goofy, but Morgan always tried to do that 'I'm speaking really carefully so you can't tell I'm drunk' thing, which only made him sound more drunk. "I never made him drink a thing."

"Yeah, I'm sure you were a totally innocent bystander," she said, stepping forward and pulling Spencer's other arm around her shoulders. He shifted his weight from Morgan onto her and she stumbled a little. As skinny as he was, he sure weighed a lot. "Jesus, Reid," she muttered. "You smell like a distillery."

"You smell niiiiiiiice," he drawled, sticking his face into her hair. Morgan helped her drag him inside and into the living room. "Isn't Emily sssho pretty?" he said, flailing one hand at Morgan's shoulder.

"Yeah, she's pretty."

Reid leaned toward him. "I get to ssssssleep with her, you know." Morgan snorted drunk laughter.

Emily shook her head, depositing him on the couch. "Honey, I doubt you could get it up right now if Princess Leia in the gold bikini gave you a lap dance."

"Ooh! Let's try!" he said, perking up a little.

"You're not driving, are you?" she said to Morgan, who was giggling like a thirteen year old seeing his first Playboy.

"Naw," he said, flapping a hand. "One a the guys was designated. He drove."

"Well, thanks for helping."

"Are you mad?" he said, peering at her with bleary eyes. "He was afraid you'd be mad."

"Why would I be mad? He's the one who'll have to endure the hangover, not me." She walked him back to the door. "Besides, he's kind of adorable when he's drunk."

Morgan abruptly turned and hugged her. Emily staggered back a step under his weight, then patted his back. "Uh…Morgan?"

"My boy got so lucky," he said, his voice a little high-pitched and quavery.  _Oh, great, he's getting maudlin. Next stop on this ride is 'I love you, man.'_ "You're a good wife."

"Thanks, I guess."

"You got one of those Princess Leia gold bikinis?"

Emily bit her lip to keep from laughing. She did, but she wasn't about to tell Derek about it. Some things were sacred between a woman and her geek. "Goodnight, Derek. Thanks for returning my wandering parakeet. I'll drive him to pick up his car tomorrow."

Derek nodded and pulled back, patting her rather heavily on the shoulder. "Night," he said, heading down the front steps, waving back at her.

She shut the door, rolling her eyes. She went into the kitchen and got a big glass of water, then headed back to the living room where Spencer was sprawled on the couch, half on and half off of it. She sat down by his head, put her arm under his back and shoved him upright. He cooperated as best he could. "M'drunk, Em," he said.

"I know. Here, drink some water."

He took the glass and gulped half of it. "Don't know how that happened."

"What were you drinking?"

He thought very hard about this. "Scotch."

"Well, that'll do it."

"Won six hundred dollars, though."

"Cool. I know you've been eyeing that Stoker first edition at the rare book place."

He looked at her, that dopey grin back on his face. He leaned closer, trying to be flirty and only managing to look more drunk. "Rather buy you – some shoes. Red shoes."

Emily laughed. "Red shoes, huh?"

"Uh-huh. The kind with – straps." He rested his chin on her shoulder and took another drink of water. "Yeah. And buckles."

"I hope you're not developing a shoe fetish on top of the workout-clothes fetish."

"Not a fetish. Just like you wearing workout clothes. That's a  _preference._  It'd only be a fetish if you  _had_  to be wearing workout clothes for me to become aroused." He blinked and sat up a little. "I think I'm sobering up."

She shook her head. "Your constitution, I swear. No matter how drunk you get, you sober up in like fifteen minutes."

He drained the glass and sagged back against the cushions. "Hmmmmmm," he said, a meaningless syllable stretched over a long sigh. "Lola, Lola, Lola."

She tucked her legs up underneath her and leaned into the couch, lifting one hand to idly comb through his hair. "Whatever Lola wants, Lola gets," she murmured.

"What's Lola want now?"

"Well, a sober husband to take to bed and play with wouldn't be unwelcome."

He smirked. "Gimme half an hour."

"You'll be reaching for the aspirin in half an hour. C'mon, let's just get you up to bed."

He let her pull him to his feet, tossing his arm over her shoulder again although he could now walk on his own just fine. "Bed, bed, bed. Time for sleep. Did you know that twenty percent of vehicular crashes are sleep related? A four hour sleep deficiency has the same effect on the brain as a blood alcohol level of 0.1% which is twenty percent higher than the legal limit."

"Which is about where yours is right now, I'd wager."

He blew a raspberry. "Nah. A man of my height and weight after five whiskey doubles over two hours with thirty-seven minutes to metabolize after the last drink would be below that."

They were starting up the stairs. "You're better than Wikipedia, you know that?"

"Wikipedia is prone to sabotage, manipulation, biased reporting of facts and contains untold thousands of errors. I sure hope I'm better."

"Cuter, too."

"Awww."

"Think you might be sober enough for active duty?" she asked as they walked into their bedroom. She turned and started unbuttoning his shirt.

"I think it's worth a try!" he said. "Just…" He swayed a little and put a hand over his mouth.

"Uh-oh. What?"

"Maybe you should be on top."

* * *

_Dallas, Texas  
Sunday, 5:00 am – 34 hours missing_

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Hotch shook his head as he hung up the phone. "Doing followup calls on tipline information at five in the morning is not recommended for a reason."

"We don't have the time to wait for a more convenient hour," Gideon said. "If it helps us find Emily I don't care who we wake up."

"Well, so far Kurt Harmon has been seen in just about every neighborhood in Dallas at the same time."

"We wouldn't have used a tipline for this case if we'd had a choice, but it's out there now and we can't ignore the possibility of a real break coming from it."

"Harmon's pathologically secretive, Jason. Nobody will know where he is. He'll have taken her somewhere that no one will see him or notice him."

"Then what are we doing?"

Hotch sighed. "Due diligence, I suppose." He glanced over to where Reid sat in front of Emily's monitor. "She's got to be really feeling it now," he said, quietly. "How long can she last, standing like that?"

Gideon shook his head. "I wouldn't think more than twenty-four hours. The effort necessary to stand will only speed her dehydration, too."

"She's already been chained there for over twelve hours. And this man has given us nothing to go on."

"We're refining our profile."

"That's all well and good, but how does that help us  _find_  her?"

"It will. I just hope it helps us find her in time."

* * *

_Sunday, 11:00 am – 40 hours missing_

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When Morgan, Rossi and JJ had arrived back at the station just before five a.m., Hotch, Gideon and Garcia were visibly ready for their turn to sleep. Reid, on the other hand, had been sitting right where they'd left him. He didn't appear to have moved an inch. Still watching the screen, that look of grim determination still on his face.

"How is she?" Morgan had asked as he handed Reid the change of clothes and razor he'd asked for.

Reid sighed, reluctantly rising. "It was a very long night, but no sign of Harmon. I think he's letting her wear down physically before he comes at her again. JJ, will you watch her? I'm just going to shower quick."

"Sure," JJ said. She'd glanced at Morgan as Reid left the room and he'd seen there the same thought. It really didn't matter if anybody watched Emily or not, but Morgan could grok Reid's need to make sure she wasn't alone. JJ had dutifully sat in Reid's chair and watched her until Reid had returned, damp-haired and clean-shaven and looking slightly more awake, his mood brightening a little further when Rossi appeared with coffee and donuts.

Hotch, Gideon and Garcia returned just before eleven. Garcia had gone right to Reid and hugged him, which he endured with as much equanimity as could be expected from a man in his position.

"Where are we?" Hotch asked.

"No luck with Harmon's bank records. We've gone back six years so far and there's nothing to tie him to any property," Morgan said.

"I talked to the woman who torched her ex-husband's house," JJ said. "She admits to having been friends with Harmon. She says he encouraged her to – how did she put it? – express her emotions to him. She denied that he encouraged her to commit arson. But she was holding back. She had this look on her face when she talked about him, like she didn't trust what she might say. She didn't know of anyplace Kurt would go to hide Emily. She corroborated that he liked to camp."

"We've run down everything from the tipline," Morgan said. "Most of it's crap, as expected. I think we need to…"

Morgan's words were interrupted by the unmistakable sound of Emily's chain retracting. Reid sat up straight. "He's coming back in," he said.

Garcia patched the feed of Emily's camera onto the big monitor on the wall. Reid got up and went to stand before it; everyone dropped their files and coffee cups and hurried to join him. Morgan took up his spot behind Reid's right shoulder. This was where he'd stand. He had his boy's back.

It was impossible for him, and he knew for the others as well, not to think of the Tobias Hankel case. Then, as now, they'd had to watch on a monitor, helpless, as one of their teammates was hurt. It had a perverse sort of symmetry that it had been him then and her now. Watching Emily beaten by Harmon had been painful, and it was compounded by having to watch what it did to Reid to see it.

Derek was pretty sure he'd never been in love. Not really, not like Reid and Emily were. He'd come close, and he'd certainly had strong feelings for women in the past, but in his mind for it to count it had to be mutual.

A few months ago, when they'd both had a few, he'd asked Reid what it felt like. How had he known it was real? When did it happen? Was it like a switch being thrown? Or like they said, a lightning bolt from the sky? Reid had looked at him like he was crazy. "It doesn't happen  _to_  you," he'd said. "When you find the right person, you build it  _with_  her. It doesn't find you, you have to create it."

Morgan hadn't really thought of Reid as a kid since that moment. He'd also realized that the whole time they'd been together, he'd been thinking of Reid as the lucky one. He had dated and then married a beautiful, confident woman who adored him, understood his job and shared his schedule, how could an FBI profiler get luckier? But hearing Reid describe his marriage and seeing the look in his eyes as he'd done so, he'd started thinking that Emily might be lucky, too.

Harmon came back into Emily's cell. He was carrying a chair. She was leaning heavily against the wall, as much as she could, and didn't give him much of a reaction as he entered. Harmon stood there for a moment, and then walked over to her and set the chair he was carrying against the wall by her side, motioning for her to sit. She gave him a suspicious look. "Go ahead," he said.

Emily sat down, her exhaustion clear in her body. Morgan couldn't imagine how she must be feeling after standing cuffed to the wall since the previous afternoon. "Thank you," she said, sounding tired and beaten down.

Reid was shaking his head a little. "What's he up to?" he muttered.

Harmon took the other chair, the one he'd sat on before, and slid it up close to her. He sat down and leaned in, then began to speak to her in low, hushed tones. They couldn't hear what he was saying.

"Garcia, can you turn up the volume?" Reid asked.

"It's up as far as it can go," she said, arching her neck to watch the monitor from her workstation.

"I can't hear him. Can anyone hear him?" Reid said, sounding a little strident.

No one said anything, they were too busy straining to hear. Harmon was right in Emily's personal space. She wasn't cringing away; Morgan guessed it was part of the role she was playing for him. If she were really being swayed by his influence, she wouldn't recoil. Instead she just sat, limp and tired, her head lolling on her neck, her eyes fixed on Harmon's face. He touched her a few times, once lifting his hand and stroking the backs of his fingers down her cheek. Morgan felt Reid shudder.

This went on for at least ten minutes. The seconds ticked by and all they could do was watch Harmon whisper at her. Every so often Morgan thought he caught a word, or part of a word, but not enough to get the gist of what he was saying.

"What could he be saying to her?" JJ said.

"She's weak, she's tired, she's in shock and grieving," Gideon said. "He's probably forcing her to think about her loss. He's telling her he understands, he's telling her there's a way out. He's saying over and over that she can't be saved."

"He could do anything he wants," Rossi said. "He's never been in this situation before, with a hostage of his own, with the control and the safety he's set up for himself."

They all saw it when Emily started to cry, the exhaustion and emotional stress melting the resistance from her body and making her wilt. Her shoulders shook, her head drooped down. Reid ran both hands back through his hair and gripped his own shoulders.

Harmon got up and shoved away his chair. "Get up," he said, the first words they'd been able to hear.

Emily lifted her tear-stained face. "I…I can't," she said.

"Get up," he repeated, grabbing her by the upper arm and hauling her to her feet. Emily winced in pain. He pushed away the chair he'd given her, then he hit her. Everyone jumped. Reid made a low, keening sound, his fingers going white where they gripped his own shoulders.

Emily sagged to the side. She let out a harsh sob and stayed hunched over for a moment, recovering herself. She straightened up to face Harmon again. "853," they all heard her say, her voice roughened. She wasn't talking to Harmon, and no one in the room was ignorant of what that number meant. Morgan saw JJ put her hands to her mouth, blinking back tears.

A strangled cry escaped Reid's throat; he took a step closer to the screen and put his hand on it. Everyone moved forward with him. "854," he whispered.

Harmon hit her again, in the stomach this time. She doubled over, coughing. "855," she groaned.

"856," Reid replied. Morgan squeezed his shoulder hard, not sure if he was doing it for Reid or for himself. Reid felt like a writhing mass of knots under Morgan's hand.

"God, why is he doing this to her?" he heard Garcia wail.

"Because he can," Hotch said, his voice grim.

"He can't hear you, Emily," Harmon said. "You won't hear him say it back, ever again." He hit her in the stomach again. She retched and sagged to a half-squat. "857," she said, her voice reduced to a wheeze and a cough.

Reid looked like he was being slowly flattened by a steamroller. "858," he said, tight-lipped but determined.

"She's – she's still going up by two each time," Garcia said, her voice thick with tears. "Like you're there to say it back to her."

Reid nodded. "She knows I would always say it back, no matter where I was."

Harmon stepped back, then left the room for a moment.

When he returned, he was carrying a knife. Garcia gasped. Everyone else just sort of – braced. Reid didn't move. His hand was still on the screen, near the image of Emily.

She straightened up and faced him. Harmon wasn't brandishing the knife, just holding it. He walked slowly forward, then lifted it up so she could see it. She didn't move, but they could all see her chest rising and falling with her quickened breath.

Harmon lowered the knife and used the tip to pop the top button on her blouse. Then the second. Morgan's stomach lurched sickeningly.

Reid was shaking his head in silent negation. "No no no no," Morgan heard JJ saying, quietly and under her breath.

Harmon took a step back – then his hand went to his belt. Everyone shifted, grasping at each other and at themselves, deep breaths before the plunge, muttered entreaties, swallowed horror. "No, don't you fucking dare," Reid snarled. Morgan had never heard him  _snarl_  before. Harmon was taking his sweet time, but his intentions were all too clear.

"It doesn't make sense," Morgan choked out. "He hasn't displayed any sexual interest in her – why this, why now?" No one seemed to have a good answer for that. Garcia moaned low in her throat like a trapped animal, her hands over her face, but she was still looking. She couldn't look away, he knew – none of them could.

Hotch moved between Reid and the monitor and pushed him back. "Reid, you have to leave this room. Right now."

Reid tried to shove Hotch away. Morgan grabbed one of his arms, Rossi his other, and they held him back. It was like trying to keep a grip on a handful of snakes. "No, let go of me! Emily!" he cried, struggling against them, reaching past them toward the monitor as if he could yank her back if he just wanted to badly enough. "Get off me!"

"You can't watch this," Hotch said, raising his voice. Garcia had turned her chair away and was bent over her legs, her face in her hands. "If this is going to happen  _you can't see,_  do you hear me?"

Reid wrenched his arms free with strength Morgan wouldn't have thought he possessed and grabbed Hotch's lapels. He yanked Hotch forward and Morgan suddenly noticed that Reid was taller than Hotch, which was vaguely disconcerting. "I won't leave her alone, you hear me!" he said, his voice twirling with mad rage. "No matter what, I can't leave her. I let him take her, I won't turn and run and leave her alone with him! I can't do it! I can't…can't…" His ability to speak coherently was leaving him. His chest heaved in great swooping intakes of breath, his eyes wild with panic. After almost two days of keeping himself under control, he was losing it. Gideon pushed himself between Hotch and Reid. He reached out and grabbed Reid's face, stilling him and forcing him to look at him.

"Spencer, you can't watch this. You'll never be able to look at each other again without it being there. She will not forgive you if you watch this. She would not want you to see. Do you understand me? It's bad enough what's going to happen to her. She's strong, but she needs you to stay the man she married, the one who can take her away from this, not get stuck inside it with her."

Reid was looking at Gideon with an expression of such despair Morgan wondered that he didn't crack under its weight. "Gideon…I can't help her. I've failed her. God, I don't know what to do. Tell me what to do."

"Spencer, think about Hankel for a moment. How did you feel knowing that we'd seen him beat you?"

He swallowed hard. "I…I hated it that you'd seen me weak."

"You can help her by not seeing this."

Reid shook his head. "Someone has to see. For the profile, and for what he does…and for how she reacts…" He put his hands over his face, a single sob sneaking out from behind them. "I can't let her be alone. I left her alone and he took her away. I can't do it again."

"I'll stay with her." Hotch turned back from the screen, where Harmon was still drawing out his ramp-up. Now he was tying some knots in lengths of rope he'd brought in. Everyone turned to look at Hotch. "I'll keep watch. She never has to know." He met Reid's eyes. "I won't leave her alone. Not for a second."

Reid held Hotch's gaze. "Don't you even blink, Hotch."

"I won't." Hotch nodded to Morgan, who put his arm around Reid's shoulders and turned them both away from the monitor. He saw Gideon come up behind Reid, and Rossi come up to his other side and grasp his arm. He couldn't hear anything from the monitor. Garcia moved to Morgan's other side and pressed her forehead to his shoulder.

Reid was still shaking. As they stood there waiting, waiting for it to be over, it was finally too much for him. He dissolved into tears, hopeless, hollow sobs. Morgan glanced over his shoulder. Hotch was standing before the monitor, where Harmon was now right up against Emily. He couldn't see much. "Emily," Reid sobbed, his body sagging, Morgan and Rossi doing most of the work to hold him upright.

JJ came around in front of him. "Spence, look at me," she said. Her voice was calm. She gently took his face in her hands and lifted his eyes to meet hers. "You just look at me, okay? Listen to my voice. Don't think about anything else. Focus on me." She kept talking to him in a low, soothing tone. "Talk to me," JJ said. "Tell me something. Tell me about…um…the periodic table."

Morgan smiled bitterly. She'd grabbed at the first thing she could think of that had nothing to do with any of this, something Reid could babble about without emotion. "The…periodic table?" Reid said, his voice hitching.

"Yes. Tell me about it. How many elements are on it?"

"A hundred and twelve named elements, with six more still to be named. More every year." Reid swallowed hard, his eyes fixed on JJ's calm face.

"Who picks the names?"

"IUPAC. The International Union of Pure and Applied Chemistry."

"Tell me about the table, Spence."

Morgan could feel Reid's body loosening as he focused on something he knew, something he could handle. "It was first conceived of in 1869 by Dmitri Mendeleev after he noticed recurring trends in the physical properties of the known elements. Did you know that the organization of the table reflected aspects of atomic structure that wouldn't be experimentally observed for decades? It's one of the most amazing examples of the power of scientific method in history."

JJ nodded, smiling. "Good. Keep talking, just keep talking."

Morgan tuned her out as Reid babbled about the periodic table of the elements, a sense of surreality rising from the floor to surround him. This couldn't be happening. They couldn't be standing here doing nothing while his best friend's wife was raped on a monitor behind them while Reid rattled off chemistry facts. It was too horrible.

The seconds ticked by and turned into minutes. Too many minutes. Hotch hadn't said anything. Morgan risked a glance back over his shoulder. Hotch was blocking his view of the monitor, the stiff set of his shoulders revealing his own turmoil.

"…and the alkaline metals famously react with explosive force when they come into contact with water," Reid was saying, his voice flat and detached. "The force of the reaction increases as you move down the periodic table."

"It's over," Hotch said. He sounded relieved, and oddly confused, like he wasn't expecting that.

They all turned, and Reid pulled away from him and Rossi and lurched over to the monitor. Emily was still standing where she had been, slumped against the wall, dead-eyed and slack-faced – and still dressed. "Wait…" Reid said. "What happened?"

"He didn't rape her," Hotch said, his hand coming up to grip Reid's shoulder. "He didn't do it."

Reid blew out a large breath and his head sagged. "What happened? Tell me everything."

Hotch shook his head like he was still trying to figure that out himself. "He really took his time building up to it, like he was putting on a show for her. She stayed very passive, even detached, like she didn't care what he did to her. It looked like he was going to do it, but then – he stopped. He stared at her for a few moments, then he just left the room."

"He could be coming back," Rossi said.

"No, I don't think so," Hotch said.

"It was a test," Reid said. "A test of Emily's mental state. He wanted to see how tired she was, how much she'd given up on herself. He knows she'd fight unless she was pretty far gone."

"I can't believe she was able to keep up that façade with what he was about to do," Morgan said, tightly.

"Are we sure it's still a façade?" JJ asked, gently.

"Yes," Reid said, sounding very sure of himself. "No way he's broken her that completely in this amount of time. Either she realized that he was just testing her…" He swallowed hard as he considered the other possibility. "Or she was prepared to let him do that to her in order to fool him into thinking he has her where he wants her."

One of the other camera feeds from Harmon's hideout showed the front door. They'd seen Harmon leave a couple of times, presumably to go to his vehicle. He did so now. The second the door shut, Emily snapped out of her defeated torpor as if a switch had been thrown. She threw herself down to the ground, crying out as her arms were twisted painfully up and backwards. She got her hips as far from the wall as she could, stretching out her legs, straining. "What's she doing?" JJ said.

"She's trying to reach something on the floor," Hotch said, peering at the monitor. "I can't see anything."

Whatever Emily was trying to reach, she seemed to manage it. She drew her foot back and shoved whatever it was up against the wall.

"Maybe a paperclip? Something she could use to pick her handcuff?" Reid speculated. "Whatever it is, she can't do anything or even reach it until at least one of her hands is free. But it's there within her reach, anyway." As they watched, Emily painfully and awkwardly got to her feet, her arms wrenched at unnatural angles. She let herself slump, leaning on the wall, and like that switch had been thrown back again, the tears and defeated body language were back. Reid shook his head. "She's keeping her head, at least." He fell into a nearby chair, bending forward with his hands to his face. "Shit," he muttered. Morgan squeezed his shoulder.

"You okay, kid?"

Reid's head came up, the weariness in his face replaced with irritation. "I wish everyone would stop asking that! How I am is the least of our concerns. Let's just assume going forward that until Emily is safe, I am not okay, all right? So we can stop wondering if I'm okay and focus on getting her back?" He looked around at their faces. No one had any objection. "Good. What's next?"


	31. Chapter 31

_Washington, DC  
eighteen months ago_

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It was still dark when Reid woke up, his body telling him it was one of the deep hours of early morning. He stretched and turned his head but the clock wasn't where it was supposed to be.

_Oh. You're at Emily's, dummy._

He turned his head the other way and saw that it was two thirty in the morning. He blinked, just now noticing that Emily wasn't in bed with him.

They'd gotten back from a case around ten, exhausted from a long day chasing an UNSUB all over Denver and then a long flight home, but also from the continuous stress of being out in the world and having to be professional with each other. It had been easier since coming clean to the team a month before, but they still felt obligated to refrain from anything remotely betraying their personal affection while they were working. And when they were on the road, they were never  _not_  working. They still got separate hotel rooms, although Reid suspected that JJ had come close to asking them if they wouldn't rather share. If they'd had a room together, they might have felt okay being a couple in the privacy of their room, but as long as they were separate, it felt wrong to go knock on her door and ask if he could come in and cuddle for awhile, or vice versa. So they slept alone, something they were both getting used to not doing at home.

They'd all shuffled in to the BAU, dropping their files on their desks. Hotch had vanished into his office. JJ and Morgan had both left in short order. He and Emily had lingered so they could be alone as they left. Finally, in the elevator, she'd leaned wearily against his shoulder. "Come over," she'd murmured.

"Yeah," he'd said, having already been intending to do just that. He'd followed her back to her apartment where they'd gone upstairs without much conversation, gotten undressed and climbed into bed. Too tired to have sex, they'd just kissed for a little while and fallen asleep twined together.

Reid had been thinking thoughts lately. Serious thoughts, thoughts he was afraid to share with Emily. He was only just getting used to the fact that she was his girlfriend.  _Girlfriend._  Such a middle-school word, but there wasn't really a better alternative. Lover? Too much information. Partner? Too ambiguous and too much implied commitment. Special lady friend? That made them sound like eighty year olds having a December-December romance in the retirement community.

No, his discomfort with the term notwithstanding, she was his girlfriend. And she was undeniably a serious girlfriend; they'd been together six months, months of intense togetherness. Six months that had, for him anyway, been wonderful . Since their first date, Reid didn't think more than two days had ever gone by when they didn't spend time alone together. It was starting to sink in that someone he loved returned his affection in kind. That she wasn't going anywhere, that she wanted to be with him. Maybe long-term. He was thinking long-term thoughts, that was for sure. He could picture it all too well. Moving in with her, maybe. Even…marrying her.

He tried to imagine that. The idea of himself as someone's husband was beyond strange. Having such a thing, having a wife and a marriage and a family of his own, wasn't something he'd ever let himself consider seriously. Not just because it had always seemed unlikely, but because it was scary. The idea of being married inevitably brought up thoughts of children that his hypothetical wife would possibly want, and that was something he couldn't even entertain. He knew Emily would want children, a fact he was managing to keep sequestered in some backwater of his mind, because the longer they were together, the less unlikely the idea of marriage became.

_Whoa there. Too soon for those thoughts._

Right now he was just wondering where she was. She wasn't in the bathroom, the light wasn't on. He swung his legs out of bed and wandered out and down the stairs in his flannel sleep pants and t-shirt, his bare feet noiseless on the wood.

He found her in the living room, sitting cross-legged on the couch in her nightshirt with her laptop open across her knees. She saw his reflection in the picture window and glanced over her shoulder at him before returning her eyes to the screen. "Did I wake you?" she murmured.

"No," he said, half-lost in a yawn. He came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders, feeling the tension there. Why was she so tense? He pressed his fingers into her muscles, kneading the knots out as best he could. "What are you doing?"

She leaned back into his touch, letting her head sag bonelessly on her neck. She sighed, her eyes closing. "Couldn't sleep."

He kept rubbing, putting most of his weight behind his hands. She made a pleased sound and ran one of her hands up his arm. "It's after two," he whispered. "You going to tell me why you're down here working on…" He squinted at her laptop screen. "…paperwork from the Denver case?"

She just kept running her hand up and down his arm for a moment, staring into space. Finally she grabbed his hand and pulled him around the couch. He got the hint and sat next to her. Emily put her laptop on the coffeetable and swung her legs up over his lap, tucking her head down on his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her, her soft warmth suffusing his body. She fit so perfectly against him; holding her always felt like second nature.

"What is it?" he whispered. "Can't you tell me?"

"You're the only one I can tell." She sighed. "I had a dream about my dad."

Reid had spent a not-insignificant amount of time over the past month supporting her as best he could as she grieved for her father, whom she'd loved dearly. There had been tears soaked up by his shirts, and times she'd lashed out at him that he'd simply endured, knowing it wasn't about him, and days of glum sadness he'd tried to help her overcome, sometimes successfully, sometimes not. Aside from being a time for her to miss her father, this time of mourning had forged something between them. It had bound them closer together than they would have been without it. Emily felt like the most important person in his life now. She was letting him see her in a way no one else did. It was like super-concentrated relationship time where one day equaled one week or even one month in normal relationship time. "You could have woken me," he said, stroking her back.

She shook her head. "You've put up with enough of my father-related stuff."

"There is no 'enough.' There's no maximum capacity to my support, Emily. I'll do it as long as you need it."

She smiled a little and hugged him tighter. "Thanks."

"So tell Dr. Reid about your dream."

She let out a shaky sigh, then took a breath and began speaking. "I dreamt I was with my Dad at the house we lived in while we were in Italy. He was teaching me how to drive. You were there. You were in the backseat. You kept correcting him, saying he was doing it wrong." Reid chuckled. "But it was like he didn't hear you. He just kept telling me I was doing fine, I could give it more speed, I could merge onto the highway. I figured out how to make the car fly, and he laughed and laughed as we took off over the mountains. You said the view was amazing, and then he could hear you. He said yes, it was amazing, and that you should get in front so you could see better. So he got in the backseat and you were in the passenger's, and I looked back and he was transparent, like he was half-there, and he was fading while I watched. I begged him not to go but he disappeared. I lost control of the car and we started falling out of the sky. You grabbed the wheel and suddenly you were driving and I was looking out the window and we were okay again. My dad was down below climbing the mountain. He waved to me from the very top." She fell silent. Reid said nothing, waiting for her to finish or say something that required his response. He just held her, one hand on her head. "Pretty transparent symbolism, huh?"

"Sometimes a flying car is just a flying car."

She laughed a little. "I miss him."

"I know."

"I wanted him to get to know you."

He nodded. "I'm sorry I missed out on that."

"I tried for years to prepare myself to lose my parents. I knew it would happen someday. I guess you're never really ready for it."

"I've heard people say that you're never really a grownup until your parents die." He couldn't help but think about the inevitable day when his own mother would die. He found himself hoping that Emily would be there to comfort him when the time came.

"It feels like part of me has died, too. I wasn't ready for that, I didn't know it'd feel like this." She sniffed and burrowed closer to him, turning her head toward his chest, her fingers grasping his t-shirt. She cried a little, but quickly got herself back under control. He reached around for the box of Kleenex on the side table and handed it to her. She blew her nose and relaxed a little.

"Better?"

She drew back and looked up at him. "Better." She had an odd expression in her eyes as her gaze roamed all over his face. "You know what?"

"What?"

"You're the first man I've ever been with that I didn't feel the need to hide this stuff from."

"What stuff?"

"You know. The emotional messiness. I always wanted to maintain my image. Be that strong, brave Emily."

"You are strong and brave."

"Not all the time."

"Well, no one can be anything  _all_  the time."

"But I was. I tried to be. Sometimes it's all a front, you know. To hide what I'm really feeling."

"You mean like someone spouting statistics to mask their insecurity?"

She shrugged. "I guess it isn't that unusual."

"I think the word you're looking for is 'universal.'"

"But that's my point. With you, I'm just – safe. To be however I really am at that moment, whether it's strong and brave or sad and weepy, or silly or nerdy or neurotic or sentimental or calm. I've never felt safe like that with anyone else." She was looking at him now with a vaguely surprised expression, as if what she was saying was a revelation even to herself. "Damn," she said, quietly. "I really love you."

He watched her face. "So you didn't mean it when you said so before?"

"No, it's not that, it's – I guess it's getting real now. You've been so amazing since my dad died, I know it hasn't been very much fun. But here you are and I don't know how I would have gotten through this without you."

"You would have."

"Yeah, I suppose. But I just…" She put her hand on his face. "I keep being surprised by it. It's my own history messing with me. I'm waiting to start feeling stifled, or impatient, or for you to start being unreasonable and demanding, but instead – every morning I wake up and I'm still happy to be with you. It's a new thing for me."

Reid could hardly think how to respond to that. "It's new for me, too."

"I didn't plan to get into this right now, but – I just want you to know that wherever we go from here, I'm…I'm all in," she said, smiling.

His heart loosened just a touch to hear her say that. "Thank you," he whispered. He pulled her close and kissed her. She responded eagerly, her arms sliding up around his neck. She shifted up over his legs, settling herself more firmly on his lap, wriggling about in a way that made all the blood leave his brain and head for points south.

"Spencer," she murmured against his lips. "I need you."

He pushed her back onto the couch, his hands going under her nightshirt to her bare breasts. He made himself slow down.  _Take it easy. Now is not the time for quick and dirty. She just told you something important._  So he eased up, moving to lie beside her. She seemed to want to kiss him a lot, her hands busily touching everything she could reach. He let her, returning her kisses but holding back from what his own hands wanted to get up to.

She looked up into his face, her hands in his hair. "I need you," she repeated, the words barely more than puffs of air passing her lips, that look on her face again, like she was surprising herself.

 _She needs me. And she doesn't mean physically._  The profiler part of Reid's brain knew that Emily Prentiss guarded her independence fiercely. She didn't trust other people with her emotional vulnerability, preferring to sequester it inside herself while all the time looking after everyone around her. But the way she was looking at him now, her bare soul revealed, letting him see her without defenses – it had to be scary for her. She was giving him power over her. The same power she'd had over him for awhile now. Seeing her like this, the other part of his brain that cared about her just wanted her to know he understood. He couldn't think how else to show her than to kiss her again, deep and slow, letting her set the pace. He had a feeling they might not make it off this couch for awhile.

* * *

_Dallas, Texas  
Sunday, 4:00 pm – 45 hours missing_

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* * *

_  
_

 

Outside the conference room, barely-controlled chaos reigned in the police station. The local news had all picked up the Harmon story. Reporters were camped out outside the station. JJ had been dealing with press inquiries all day, which meant she was one less agent working on finding Emily. Police and local Bureau agents were helping run down the tips, none of which were providing any insight. Morgan had tried again with the woman in prison who'd torched her ex-husband's house. She now refused to even speak Harmon's name. Reid didn't know what to make of that.

Reid stood in front of the evidence board. He let his mind go unfocused.

_Don't look at any one thing. Look at everything at once. What sticks out? What fits? What sets off your alarm bells? See the whole board. Think outside the box._

_Nathan's computer._

_He didn't tape what Harmon wanted. He taped what HE wanted._

He watched the screen, his mind racing.

_I'm being tested. Can I do this? Can I see through the obvious to the inner workings of his mind, can I use it to look out through his eyes and see where he has her, where he's taken her, what he's done with her? Can I do all this while my guts are twisted and my brain is soaked with fear?_

He let himself drift towards thoughts of Emily, the Emily he knew and loved, not the one they'd been seeing on that monitor. She was the bravest, strongest, most amazing woman he'd ever known. She'd given herself to him even if he hardly understood why, or fathomed how she could have looked at him and decided he was the one for her.

She would have been angry if she knew he was doing that. Downplaying himself and acting like she'd done him a favor. "You're not exactly a mouth-breathing bottom-feeder, Spencer," she'd snap. She was right. It had taken him most of his adult life and some fairly vigorous counterprogramming by his friends and his wife, but Reid could accept that he had something to offer her as well. He knew that he was smart and capable, considerate and occasionally amusing. He was a good listener and, if Emily was to be believed, pretty good in bed. He could even acknowledge that he wasn't so bad to look at, as long as skinny and professorial was your thing.

Her point was that if he thought he was so off-putting, what did that say about his opinion of her, seeing as she'd chosen him? It was a legitimate point. But there was almost nothing she could say and no amount of bolstering to his own ego that would convince him that he wasn't damn lucky. Even miraculously so.

He remembered a night not too long after her father's death, when he'd come upon her awake at three a.m. after a nightmare. Emily had told him she needed him, and the look in her eyes when she'd said it – it wasn't lip service. For the first time he really believed it. He'd really known that this was something, that what had been developing between them might be the real thing. It might be a forever thing. Their first night together as husband and wife, in a rather swanky suite at the Bellagio that their teammates had insisted on procuring for them, they'd made love with wild abandon and they'd both gone a bit loopy with the emotion of the day. There had been random giggling fits and some weepiness and some over-the-top but heartfelt declarations, and Emily had said something to him that had given him pause.

"I love you," he'd said, for the 423rd time.

She'd looked at him across the pillow, her hand on his face. "I've loved you all my life," she'd said. "You just had to catch up with me."

Dr. Spencer Reid, Man of Rationality, didn't believe in fate or predestination, or soul mates, or the over-romanticized notion that there was one and only one perfect person for everyone. That was a fairy tale. No one was perfect for each other. There were always adjustments. He and Emily weren't perfect for each other, either. Nobody ever could be given the vast realm of human failings and personalities. But there was something that felt right about the idea that his whole life, he'd been shaped to love a certain way, that his brain had set itself up for romantic feelings that were organized in specific patterns that wouldn't apply to just any woman. The wrong woman would not fit his pattern, the edges would chafe and it wouldn't be comfortable. So if Emily was the woman he was shaped to fit, then in a sense, what she'd said was true. He had always loved her, long before they'd ever met. He just hadn't known her name.

In the almost-year of their marriage they'd refined themselves, sanding off the rough patches and chipping away the corners so they fit even better, and every day he grew further and further from ever being able to fit another – or even from fitting in the world by himself. Now those edges that had been shaped to match hers twinged and ached with her absence, his center of gravity off-kilter because it had shifted to balance her as well, leaving him unsteady and incomplete.

But not so unsteady that he couldn't do this. No misfortune on earth could unsettle him so much that he lost IQ points or his years of profiling experience. Especially not now that Emily needed him, and not just for emotional fulfillment. Now she needed him to find her, and he'd do it or die trying.

Reid shook off his reverie and looked at the photo of Kurt Harmon tacked to the evidence board.

_He's watching her. He's watching that whole hideout. Six camera feeds. Why the elaborate security setup? For the control, of course. So he knows, so he sees, so he's – in touch._

_In touch._

_He had a Taser._

_He got her out without anyone noticing._

_He's leaving no traces._

_He kidnapped an armed Federal agent._

_He planted a getaway car._

_He knocked me out with one swing._

"He's too good at this," he muttered.

Hotch looked up. "What?"

Reid went to the board where all Nathan's victims were pinned up. "Harmon. He's too good at this."

"At what?"

"At being a criminal! He hasn't made a single misstep! And yet he let Nathan store files on his computer for us to find, even though he's managed to hide his signal so that even Garcia can't find it? He was cool enough to wait in his own backyard while FBI agents closed in around him just to get me and Emily in a spot where he could take her." Reid turned and grabbed the files on Nathan's victims. "The ME's reports. What do we know about the killer?"

"About Harris? A lot," JJ said.

"No, the wounds. The stab wounds, the wrist slashings." Reid collected the crime scene photos and spread them out on the conference table in a row, in chronological order. "Tell me about the killer. Just from the wounds, look at them and tell me who made them. Pretend I don't know who he is."

"He's about five ten and left-handed, by the wound patterns," Morgan said. "He used a sharp hunting knife. He blitzed the victims first, stunned them, stabbed them, and then slashed their wrists."

Reid nodded. "Something's weird about these wounds."

Morgan looked over his shoulder. "What?"

"Something. It's on the tip of my brain." He looked at the photos. The progression of the victims over time.

_Over time._

_Oh, shit._

Reid's head snapped up. "I need to see Nathan. Right now." He strode out of the room, not waiting for the others to catch up. "Detective, I need to see Nathan Harris," he said, walking by Bullock, who hurried to catch up.

"We got him down the hall," he said, leading Reid out of the station and down the corridor to their small on-site holding facility. The rest of the team caught up as they reached Nathan's cell. Nathan was sitting on a cot, staring into space. He stood as they approached.

"Dr. Reid!" he said, looking surprised and undeniably happy to see him.

Bullock opened the cell door. Reid reached over and plucked a pen out of Bullock's breast pocket and tossed it at Nathan, who caught it on reflex. Reid nodded. "Hello, Nathan."

"I didn't think I was going to see you," Nathan said, frowning down at the pen Reid had just lobbed at him.

"You want to tell me why you're taking credit for seven murders you didn't commit?"

Nathan just stared at him. "What do you mean?"

"You're left-handed. You didn't kill those boys."

"Reid, what the hell?" Morgan said. "We know the killer  _was_  left-handed."

"No. He wasn't. The wounds on the first victim, Roy Barnes? They showed hesitation marks, awkwardness. They were messy. Like you'd expect from someone's first kill, someone who wasn't sure they wanted to be killing and wasn't comfortable with the knife."

Reid could see that Hotch was starting to track his line of thought. "The subsequent kills showed the same wound pattern. There was no improvement, like you'd expect from a killer who was becoming more experienced."

"There was no improvement because those wounds weren't messy due to inexperience or hesitation. They were messy because the killer was using his non-dominant hand, making it look like a left-handed person was responsible. A right-handed person killed those boys. Nathan is left-handed." Reid moved into the cell to face Nathan. "Why did you tell us you'd killed them?

"No…I did kill them," Nathan said, an edge of panic coming into his voice.  _Why's he panicking? What does Harmon have on him?_  "I did."

"No, you didn't. Harmon killed them. And he's making you take the fall. How? How's he forcing you?"

"He's not forcing me to do anything!" Nathan said. "I killed those men! I wanted to do it, I thought about doing it, and I did it!"

"The first two are true. You wanted to do it and you thought about doing it. How did he know? Did he ask you about your fantasies?"

"He didn't have to ask, I killed them!" Nathan was backing away, his agitation increasing by the second.

"You wouldn't be so upset if I wasn't hitting a nerve," Reid said, making his voice calm. "Tell me what really happened."

"I killed them! I killed them!" Nathan cried. "Don't make me say I didn't!"

"Or what, Nathan?" Reid said, moving closer. "What'll happen if you say you didn't?"

"He'll kill her!" Nathan shouted.

Reid's mouth snapped closed and he took a step back. "He told you he'd kill Agent Prentiss unless you took the fall for his crimes?"

Nathan was shaking his head, his hands covering his face. "They're not his crimes, they're mine. He killed them the same way I thought about killing them."

"How? Why?"

"He said I should write about the thoughts I had," Nathan said, sinking down on the cot again, his voice clogged with tears. Reid crouched in front of him. "He said it would help. That it was okay to have the thoughts, I should put them on paper so they weren't so scary."

"And he read them, didn't he?"

Nathan nodded miserably. Reid got up and went into the hall, where the others were standing there with the expression they all got when things started to click. "He realized he had the perfect fall guy," Rossi murmured. "He could bypass his proxies and finally do what he'd always wanted to do and use Nathan as an alibi. A young man with a history of homicidal tendencies who wrote about killing young men in the same way these men were killed. He'd be a damn good suspect."

"He took those videos of the kills himself and put them on Nathan's computer to implicate him," JJ said. "And now he's using Emily to force Nathan to take the blame."

Reid shook his head. "That's not the only reason. Nathan feels he  _is_  to blame, because they were his thoughts. Harmon just acted on them. In a way, Harmon became Nathan's proxy. But this changes the profile of Harmon significantly. If he's been killing for months…"

"He won't let Emily live," Hotch said, his jaw clenched. "The only reason to force Nathan to get blamed for his murders is if he plans to keep killing. My guess is he'll play out whatever fantasy he has about you and Emily, then he plans to disappear. Take a new name, go somewhere else, and continue."

"Then we have to find her before he gets the chance," Reid said.

"He thinks he's unobserved, he thinks he's gotten away from us," Gideon said. "He can take his time. He has no reason to rush, and he won't want to. He'll want to see how low he can take her before it's too much."

Reid rubbed at his face. "There's got to be a way. Something we're missing."

Nathan spoke up from behind them. "What about that call you were gonna make?" he said.

Reid turned. "We can't call him yet. His cell phone isn't on."

Nathan frowned. "He never turns his cell phone off."

"Well, it's off now," JJ said.

"No. That's how he monitors his server traffic and his bandwidth. He can't turn it off, especially if he's storing surveillance data. He connects to his server with the Bluetooth in his phone."

The four agents exchanged a puzzled glance. "By the profile, he's right," Gideon said. "Harmon would need that control, that ability to be in touch at all times."

"But if it isn't off…" Reid trailed off, his mind whizzing over the possibilities. It didn't take him long to realize something. "We need Garcia."

"And we need to go back and re-examine Harmon's kills for profile information," Hotch said. The team turned and headed back to their corner of the precinct.

Reid nodded, turning back to Nathan after they'd gone. Nathan looked more miserable than even Reid felt, which was saying something. "I couldn't let him kill her," he whispered.

"Nathan, you don't know Agent Prentiss, but believe me, she would not want you to get the death penalty for something you didn't do, even if it meant her life."

"I wanted to help her. I wanted to help you."

"Did you know he was planning to take her?"

Nathan shook his head. "He didn't tell me until he'd already done it. But I wasn't surprised. The way he talked about you. In his head, you were like his nemesis. It always made me mad. He called me after he'd taken her and told me what I had to do. That's when I went to Midland. I guess you know the rest."

Reid sighed. "I appreciate that you wanted to save her. But that's our job." He put a hand on Nathan's shoulder. "I'm really glad you didn't kill anybody."

"But I still wanted to."

"Wanting to do something and doing it are two different things. You're stronger than your urges, Nathan. You have the choice. You have power over yourself."

Nathan looked up at him, his eyes watery and hopeful, wanting to believe. "You look different," he said.

Reid stepped back, feeling a little uncomfortable. "It's been five years."

"I like your hair long." Reid gave him a look. "That's not a come-on," Nathan hastened to add.

Reid managed a small smirk. "Good. I'm spoken for."


	32. Chapter 32

_Washington, DC  
seventeen months ago_

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Emily came into the coffeeshop, looking around. A waving hand caught her eye and she saw Jordan at a table near the window. She grinned and waved back, made her way through the shop and hugged Jordan, who'd risen to greet her. "Hey, you look great," she said. Jordan had cut her hair short and it was very flattering. "I love your haircut!"

"Thanks," Jordan said, sitting and touching the nape of her neck. "I'm still getting used to it. I worry a little that it's too boyish."

"Oh, no. It's very Halle Berry."

"Good! I just don't want to look like Rihanna." They laughed. "You look good, too. You've got kind of a glow about you," she said, smirking.

"Thanks. Long day, though. How are things in Counterterrorism?"

"Oh, no. I see what you did there."

"What are you talking about?"

"Changing the subject away from the reason for that happy glow."

"Does there need to be a reason? Can't I just be happy?"

"Sure. But there is a reason. You know, I heard the most interesting rumor about you."

"About me?"

"And Spencer Reid."

"What about him?"

"Are you or are you not dating him?"

Emily sighed. They weren't supposed to spread it around, but it was near impossible to stop the FBI Rumor Mill. She shook her head. "Won't do me any good to deny it, will it?"

Jordan slapped at her arm. "You bitch, why didn't you tell me the last time I saw you?"

"That was like two months ago."

"How long have you been dating him?"

Emily fidgeted in her chair. "Six months."

"So you knew then, and you didn't say anything!"

"We hadn't told our team yet, it was kind of hush-hush."

"So, spill! I need deets!"

Emily grinned. The Jordan that was her friend now was more fun than the Jordan who'd briefly been her coworker. "What do you want to know?"

"Is it serious?"

Emily looked down at her coffee. Not so long ago she would have had to think about that, but not anymore. "Yeah, it's serious."

"That's fantastic."

"Most people are a little weirded out at first. They say something like, 'Really? Him?'"

Jordan flapped a hand. "They're crazy. Reid's adorable."

Emily sighed to herself. People often applied that adjective to Reid, and she didn't deny that it applied, but it had started to bother her a little bit. The term was desexualized and a little emasculating. Spencer wasn't a fluffy bunny rabbit or some kind of neutered repository of facts and cardigan sweaters. Then again, she had a unique viewpoint. It was hard to see him as nonthreateningly 'adorable' when she had recent memories of being in bed with him, both of them panting and sweaty, and coming so hard she'd screamed. "He has his moments," was all she said to Jordan.

"I'll be honest, I can't imagine working with someone I was dating."

"That does get – complicated."

"Does Hotch know?"

"He knows, they all know. So far we're still trying to keep it somewhat on the down-low from the higher-ups. I don't know how long that'll keep."

"You won't be able to hide it if you guys move in together or something."

"I know. I'm trying not to think about it."

"But it's going well," Jordan said. It wasn't really a question.

Emily nodded. "Really well. Well enough that I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop."

"Uh-uh. Don't do that. Don't do that pre-emptive strike thing where you sabotage a relationship with the expectation of failure."

"Thank you, Dr. Joyce Brothers."

"I'm serious. You know what I'm talking about."

"Yeah, I do. And I won't." Emily crossed her legs, getting a little more comfortable. "He's been so fantastic since my dad died. Most guys, that would send them running for the hills. Emotional messiness, you know."

"Don't I know it."

"But he's been like a rock for me, and I didn't know how much I was going to need one. I'm starting to think – we might be in this for the long haul. Or at least a longish haul. Some kind of haul that isn't short."

"Yeah? Will the Bureau be thrilling to the adventures of Special Agents Reid and Reid before too long?"

Emily grinned. "I think it's a little early to be thinking about something like that." It was too early, but that hadn't stopped her from thinking about it herself. She shrugged. "He makes me happy. In a way I'd kind of given up on being."

Jordan smiled. "Listen to you. You have got it bad for the boy genius, Emily."

She smirked. "He may be a genius, but take it from me. He is all man."

Their laughter rolled over the coffee shop, causing other patrons to glance up and smile and wonder what made them so joyous.

* * *

_Dallas, Texas  
Sunday, 4:30 pm – 45.5 hours missing_

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When Reid got back to the conference room, Garcia was on him immediately. "What's going on with his cellphone?" she asked, all business.

"Nathan insists that he wouldn't have turned it off," Reid said. "It fits with his profile. Could he have done something to it to make it look like it was off, when it wasn't?"

She went to her workstation. "Let's find out. I'm going to have to hack the carrier signal and go in from the other direction, this'll take a minute." Her fingers were already flying as she spoke.

He nodded, abruptly without anything to do. He paced, his fingers making gibberish sign language in the air. After hours and hours of nothing, suddenly it felt like forward motion, even if they were no closer to finding Emily. He went back over to the monitor and leaned over to check on her. She was still chained, upright, but her expression was tight and her eyes were shut. She was in pain.

"How's she doing?" Hotch asked quietly, coming to stand by Reid's side.

"She's surviving. It's dehydration I'm worried about now. We're going on two full days without food or water. She'll start to experience skin irritation, swelling of the tongue, headache, disorientation, weakness and hallucinations." He could hear the sound of his own voice, clinical and detached as he recited these facts describing the slow death by dehydration that awaited his wife if she wasn't found. He couldn't think about it that way if he wanted to help her. He had to focus if he was going to prevent it. He went back to pacing, rubbing his own shoulders. "He'd have planned the murders as carefully as he planned the kidnapping," he murmured. "He'd have been ready to take Emily to this hideout, he'd have had it set up ahead of time. He has his server there, this is…" He stopped and looked down at the photos. "It's his trophy room," he said. "The server is where he keeps the videos of his kills. He took her to his most sacred place. Remember what Dave said about camping? About how someone like Harmon would take pride in taking control over the elements? Nathan said he liked to camp rough, sometimes going out without a tent or any food."

Gideon was nodding. "He'd make his hideout a testament to his mastery of the wilderness."

"He's somewhere remote. In the woods. That's why he's using a satellite to link up, too." Reid went to the map tacked up on the glass wall. "Lot of woods around here. National forests, national parks, empty wide open spaces miles from anything."

Bullock was looking at the map, too. "Dr. Reid, what time did Harmon appear on his surveillance tapes with Agent Prentiss?"

"Timestamp said twelve fifteen pm," Reid said, already tracking where Bullock was heading with this. "Which would have given him four hours three minutes to cover the distance. It gives us a maximum range but that's going to be a prohibitively wide search area."

Hotch went back to the map. "How many areas suitable to the profiled hideout locations are within that area?" he said, picking up a pencil and making a rough circle about the size of the area they meant. It covered a significant chunk of Texas and edged into Louisiana.

"Ya mean remote wilderness areas? Too many."

"Guys," Garcia said, sharply. "Nathan was right. Harmon hacked his SIM card to project a false power-down signal from his phone. It isn't off. I can't believe I missed that," she said, shaking her head.

"Can you get through it to his signal?" Reid said, going to her side.

"Already did. But here's the thing – the phone is on, but he's in an area with no cell service. He'd only be able to use it to network with a local signal, like his own server." She looked up at Reid, her eyes wide. "No service. That's got to narrow the search parameters a lot."

He nodded. "Put up a map of Texas with service areas, let's see areas without coverage from his provider." Garcia did as he asked, a map appearing on the wall monitor, mostly colored in red with blotches of darkness without cell coverage. "See here's an area southeast of the city…here's another…still too many within range."

"There's got to be another way to narrow this down," Morgan said.

Reid barely heard him. He was looking at Emily's image again, or more precisely, at the window near the ceiling of her room. "That window faces east," he murmured.

"How do you know that?" Bullock asked.

"From the angle of the light through the day," he said, distracted. He went back to Garcia. "Pull up the footage of Emily's room from sunrise. Run it from twenty minutes before Dallas sunrise time, double speed." Garcia's fingers flew again and the footage came up on the wall monitor. They all watched Emily's room lighten and lighten until suddenly the shadow of her windowsill went sharp. "There," Reid said, stabbing a finger at the screen. "Right there is sunrise." Garcia backed up the footage and ran it slower a couple of times until they could pinpoint the time. "The sun rose where she is at six fifty six, give or take a minute. It rose here at seven oh five. That means he's east of us, between 110 and 140 miles away."

Everyone was staring at him. "How'd you get that?" Morgan said.

"Dallas is at thirty-two degrees north latitude, meaning the earth's circumference here is about thirty-four thousand kilometers, divided by the number of minutes in a day gives each minute of earth's rotation as about fourteen miles of circumference covered. Given that he couldn't have traveled outside this time zone, the time of sunrise will vary by local times depending on longitude. A difference of nine minutes translates to 126 miles. I'm allowing for some error on either side. Garcia, give me a north-south line 126 miles east of Dallas with fifteen miles on either side."

A pair of lines appeared on the cell coverage map delineating the range he'd just given. "Look for where it crosses large areas without cell coverage," Morgan said.

Reid was already running his finger down the line. He hit a large dead area southeast of the city. "This. What's this? Blow it up." Garcia zoomed in the image.

Bullock stepped forward. "That's Angelina National Forest, down by Nacogdoches. There's some real remote country down there. It's around the Rayburn reservoir."

"We found maps of that area in Harmon's camping stuff," Rossi said. "Along with dozens of other areas."

Reid turned and stared at his teammates. "He's there." The certainty was rock solid in him. "It's far enough away for him to feel safe."

Hotch was nodding. "You might be right."

Bullock was on the phone. "I'm gonna call Forestry and see if we can get a ranger here who knows Angelina. That area's run outta Lufkin."

"Let's just head down there now," Reid said, his heart racing. "It'll take us a few hours to get there, anyway."

"I think that's premature," Hotch said. "We need to know more, get some kind of confirmation that he's there before we rush off."

"Hotch, Emily's running out of time. Harmon could come back at her at any minute and she's getting weaker and weaker."

"I realize that, Reid, but we can't help her by committing to a premature lead and possibly leaving ourselves further from a solution."

Reid ground his teeth together. Hotch was right, but the prospect of action, any kind of forward action, was so seductive he was about ready to throw caution to the wind. "We should start examining satellite images of the area," he said. "Have the computer imaging software scan for buildings, satellite dishes, evidence of habitation."

"On it," Garcia said.

Bullock was off the phone. "Forestry says there's a ranger used to work Angelina now works here in town. I'm gonna get him over here right now."

"Good," Hotch said. "In the meantime we're going to learn all we can about this place, and try to connect Harmon to it. Gideon, go back to Nathan, see if he's ever been there or if Harmon ever did or said anything that might be relevant." Gideon nodded and left the room. "The rest of us are on satellite and topography. If we can eliminate certain areas it'll help focus the search."

* * *

_Somewhere in Texas  
Sunday, 5:00 pm – 46 hours missing_

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Emily would not have believed how quickly it was possible to go from feeling all right to ready to collapse. She thought of herself as a fairly fit person, able to take some punishment, but right now, she felt like she was about to pass out.

She knew she was getting dangerously dehydrated. It had been two days since she'd last consumed food or water, in fact the last thing she remembered having was some canapes and iced tea at Elle's wake the afternoon of the raid on Harmon's house. She was demonically thirsty. Her mouth and lips felt swollen, her skin felt cracked and itchy, her eyeballs felt scratchy. She was woozy and she was starting to have alarming episodes of dizziness and nausea. Being on her feet didn't help; her body would demand more water and energy if she were standing, not to mention when it was healing her Taser burns and bruises. It had been over twenty-four hours on her feet now. The pain in her legs and hips was no longer something she was enduring, it was something she was existing inside. She didn't know how much longer she could physically keep her feet. Her arms were pins and needles all over from being held in one position and her feet were swollen. She'd kicked off her shoes hours ago.

_I gotta move things along, here._

Harmon hadn't come back since his fake-out rape. She'd been pretty sure he wasn't serious, that he was just testing her, but there had been a few moments when it was touch and go and she had to really concentrate to stop herself from kneeing him in the groin. If she was wrong, she wasn't sure she could let herself be violated to keep up her beaten-down façade. Hopefully he believed that she was well on her way to embracing the idea of suicide. Time to help convince him further.

_Okay. Get into character. I'm his victim. I'm victimized. I couldn't even fight against a man about to rape me. I'm ready to end it all. Come in here, Harmon. Come help me end it all the way you want me to. Come bring me something. Something to take my own life, but that I'm going to use to take yours._

He wouldn't bring her pills. That was a woman's suicide, and the suicide Harmon would want for her wouldn't really be hers, it would be his, so no pills. It would be a knife or a gun. She was betting on gun. He'd used a gun on Elle, and a gun was, in a way, easier than a knife. You wouldn't feel the pain of a shot to the head, you'd just be dead. He'd want to make it easy for her so she'd be more likely to go through with it. Just pull the trigger. You won't have to see the blood or feel the pain, it'll just be over.

But if he brought her a gun, she couldn't turn it on him. It was too risky. There'd likely be only one bullet in it, and what if she missed? She wasn't too confident in the steadiness of her shooting hand just now. Or what if she hit him but didn't disable him? She was in no condition to fight him off. More importantly, what if she did kill him, but he didn't have the keys to her shackle on him? She'd be stuck here with his dead body until she was found. No, she needed the bullet to shoot off her shackle. She could pick the handcuffs with the small nail she'd spied on the floor, but she had to have her other hand free to do it. One bullet, and it had to free her. So she'd have to use the gun as a club. That was risky, too. She'd have to get him in just the right spot on his head, and she couldn't be sure how much of a swing she'd get with her hands chained. He'd have to loosen her bonds if she was going to shoot herself, but how much slack would she get? Her best-case scenario was that he'd undo her handcuff, leaving her right hand totally free. She could brain him with the gun, then. If she could get him close enough. She had a pretty good idea how she could do that.

And…then what? Run for it? She couldn't, he'd escape before she could return with reinforcements.

_Kill him. Put your hands around his throat and squeeze. Kneel on his neck until his damn head pops off. Watch the life leave his body. Take revenge, it's your right. It's primeval. It's your evolutionary prerogative. He killed your mate. Kill him._

Her desire for that revenge burned bright and cold in her heart, but what would it get her? She'd lose her career and maybe her freedom and it wouldn't bring Spencer back. It would only hurt her. Spencer wouldn't want that. No, the best thing to do would be to handcuff Harmon to the wall and find a way to contact the authorities. He had to have a car here; she could get the keys and drive until she found a police station. She'd call Hotch and he would come with the cavalry. Harmon would be locked up forever, and then - and only then - could she lock herself in a private room and collapse. Then she could curl up in a ball and weep for her husband and the life they'd planned together, weep for hours or maybe days, and then emerge with her back straight and take her first step into a different world, a world without him in it, a world that would never feel the same to her, one in which she was a widow.

But none of that could happen until Harmon decided she was ready to take her own life.

_He wants me suicidal? I'll give him suicidal._

She sagged against her bonds as far as she could stand before the pain became too great. She conjured up every horrible, tragic thing that had ever happened to her, every sadness she'd ever endured, every nightmare grief – everything except her most recent bereavement. She kept thoughts of Spencer far away, because it felt wrong to use his death to help her muster up fake despondency to appease her captor. Any despair she felt over him would be real – and it might take her closer to that suicidal state than she was comfortable going.

* * *

_Dallas, Texas  
Sunday, 6:00 pm – 47 hour missing_

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* * *

_  
_

 

Hotch came into the conference room after talking to Bullock. "That Ranger ought to be here any minute. How are we doing with the satellite photos?" A large map of the Angelina State Forest had been tacked up on one of the walls; it was covered with scribbles and areas that had been crosshatched out.

"We've eliminated these areas as too populous," JJ said. "Too well trafficked. It looks like these three areas are the most promising," she went on, indicating areas with few roads and no marked towns.

"Good. Garcia, better start getting…"

"Images from the NSA? Already on it," she said, her tone clipped. It was her  _Let me work, mortals_  tone.

Reid was staring at the monitors. Hotch joined him and saw that Emily was bent over, sobbing, the sound one of deep despair. "What's going on?"

"A few minutes ago she started crying. I think she's trying to get Harmon to come back in. She wants him to think she's ready to kill herself, or at least entertain the idea."

Hotch shook his head. "It's way too soon for her to be suicidal if this were legitimate. Won't he get suspicious that she's caving too quickly?"

"No. His arrogance will let him believe that he's broken her down that fast. Her lack of reaction to his threatened rape will have gone a long way to confirming that. He probably thinks that faking my death was a masterstroke, and that alone would have made her want to end it all. He doesn't have an appreciation for the complexity of the real emotions surrounding the death of a spouse, it's like he's oversimplifying it based on things he's seen in melodramatic movies. Your loved one dies, you want to die, too. Cause and effect." Reid glanced at him, and Hotch could see in the quick look Reid's silent acknowledgement of Hotch's personal familiarity with that idea, but now wasn't the time to explore that topic.

Bullock came in, accompanied by a hearty-looking man in his late forties. "Agents, this is Ranger McCardle."

"Please, it's Randy," the Ranger said.

"I'm SSA Hotchner," Hotch said. "These are agents Morgan, Jareau, Rossi, Garcia, and Dr. Reid."

McCardle's eyes lingered on Reid. "It's your wife that's missing?"

Reid nodded. "Yes. Agent Emily Prentiss."

"Tell me what you need," McCardle said, all business.

"Tell us about Angelina National Forest."

"Big area. Too big to search. You got it narrowed down at all?"

"Yes," Morgan said, indicating the areas on the map they hadn't eliminated.

McCardle nodded, examining the map. "That'd be where I'd guess, too. The thing is, there was a lot of damage down there during Hurricane Ike, and there hasn't been the money or the manpower to repair it. There are areas that are pretty much abandoned, closed down. If he got in there, he could hide out for a long time without anyone noticing. It's not like the Forestry Service patrols the whole area. Forestry's job is mostly about logging rights and roads, not monitoring the wilderness. The public areas for camping and hiking and the like are a small fraction of the total square mileage in the forest."

Reid came forward with stills of the rooms of Harmon's hideout from the surveillance footage. "This is what the inside of the building looks like. It's cinderblock walls, concrete floors – it looks utilitarian. Does this look familiar?"

McCardle squinted at the pictures. "Well…damn. You know, this could be one of the old maintenance offices. They threw up some of these buildings so crews doing surveying or trail marking could have somewhere to stash their gear and stay over if they were out overnight. There's maybe six of them . I think all but two are shuttered."

"Where are they?" Reid said, visibly excited by this information.

McCardle went back to the map. "Well, there's only one that's in one of your target areas. It's here," he said, pointing to a northwest corner of the park, just north of Hwy 103. "Lemme make a call, I can get you exact coordinates."

"That would be very helpful," Reid said. McCardle pulled out a phone and stepped away. Reid was getting that manic look again. "Hotch," he said, still clutching the stills. "She could really be there. We have to be ready to get down there as fast as possible as soon as we have confirmation."

Hotch nodded. "I'll take care of it."

Reid nodded. "I know, I know. I'm just…" Words failed him.

"Reid, I know." He took a breath. "If we find her there, you will have saved her, you know. Your insight about Harmon having killed Nathan's victims – that led us here."

"I don't care who gets the credit, I just want her safe," Reid said, his voice cracking on the last word.

Hotch touched his arm. "I know." Reid turned and went back to the monitor to check on Emily. Hotch pulled JJ a few steps away. "JJ, call the State Police. I want to be ready to leave on a moment's notice if this is where Harmon is, and I want them to be ready too. Find out the nearest rendezvous point and have them meet us there, and call the airstrip and have them get the jet ready."

She nodded. "I'm on it." She headed out into the bullpen, her cell phone already to her ear.

"I got those coordinates," McCardle said.

"Here!" Garcia exclaimed, waving her hand. McCardle handed her his cell phone and she typed madly as she listened, then handed it back to him. "Okay," she said. A series of satellite images, courtesy of the NSA, began flashing onto her screen. Everyone gathered around, Reid bending close over her shoulder. She didn't seem to notice. The images zoomed in, and zoomed in again. Garcia's fingers flew. "I'm running a shape recognition algorithm I wrote yesterday designed to identify manmade shapes, right angles, that kind of thing."

"How long is this going to take?" Reid asked, leaning over even further.

"Shouldn't take more than…" The computer beeped at her. "Oh. It's got something." The image zoomed in by clicks. The landscape grew larger until they could see individual trees, then it stopped about twenty feet above the treetops. The program had arrowed in the corner of something, just visible between the pines. "That's a building of some kind," Garcia said. The algorithm began checking the visible shapes against its database. Tree, tree, tree…another beep. The program highlighted a barely-visible curve amidst the forest, blending into the shadows. They'd never have spotted it with the naked eye.

"What's that?" Rossi said, squinting and tilting his head.

"I don't know." She typed as calculations started flashing across the screen. "Based on the visible curvature it's an object approximately five feet in diameter with dimensions matching…" She turned to look up at Reid. "It's a satellite dish."

"He's there," Reid said, a jolt running up his spine at this confirmation. "Hotch! He's here!"

JJ ran back in. "I've got the State Police on standby ready to meet us, and the jet's ready to fly."

"Where's the closest airport to this location?" Hotch said, addressing McCardle.

"There are three: San Augustine County, Nacogdoches, and Lufkin. All of them are an hour away from this location by car. But Nacogdoches is the closest to us here, we can get there the fastest."

Hotch nodded and turned back to JJ. "Have the State Police meet us at the Nacogdoches airport, tell them to bring appropriate vehicles for the terrain…"

"Yeah, it'll be gravel or dirt roads up to that maintenance shed," McCardle said. "And in pretty bad shape since Ike. Jeeps or SUVs oughta do it."

"We know Harmon's been driving in so it must be passable," Hotch said. "Call the police department in Nacogdoches and tell them we're going to need an ambulance with EMTs to follow us there."

JJ ran back out again. "I'm going with you," McCardle said. "I'll make a call and have a Forestry Service ranger meet us in Nacogdoches with current maps."

"Good. Everyone, listen up," Hotch said, addressing the rest of the team, all of whom were busily gathering things up. "Morgan, you and I need to have a tactical scenario ready by the time we land to give to the state police. Ranger McCardle, you can help us with that since you know the layout around this building." McCardle nodded. "Detective, I'd like you to come with us, if you can," he said to Bullock.

"I'm ready to bag this son of a bitch," Bullock said, his face dark.

"What about me, Hotch?" said Gideon, appearing in the doorway again.

Hotch turned to face him. "You're staying here with Garcia, Jason. You're not an active agent, you're unarmed. I can't have you in a tactical situation." Gideon nodded. Hotch turned to Reid. "Reid," he said.

Everyone stopped upon hearing Hotch's serious tone, their eyes volleying between Hotch and Reid, whose face had gone stony. "Hotch, if you're going to tell me not to come…"

"I wouldn't ask that of you. I just need to know that you can think clearly while we're there."

Reid nodded. "I can do whatever I have to do."

"Good. Let's go."


	33. Chapter 33

_Alexandria, Virgnia  
nine months ago_

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* * *

_  
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Reid blinked and turned over, his hand sliding over to Emily's side of the bed, which it found cold and uninhabited. The smell of coffee was wafting up from downstairs, letting him know that his wife was awake and at the very least making coffee.

He sat up, rubbing at his face.  _Damn, it's only seven a.m. Kinda early to get up on a holiday._

Holiday. Christmas Day. Never his favorite. In fact he'd actively avoided celebrating it as an adult. He didn't care about the religious implications, and the relentless cultural cavalcade of family-togetherness and warm-fuzzy-hominess only reminded him of everything Christmas hadn't been for him as a kid. He much preferred Halloween. Grownups run Christmas, but kids run Halloween, so when he'd been one it hadn't mattered so much that his mother often forgot what day it was.

Still, he was determined to put on a happy face for Emily's sake. It was their first Christmas together, after all. Technically last Christmas had been the first since they started dating, but they hadn't spent it together. They'd only been seeing each other a few months and while they'd both known it was getting serious, it wasn't yet acknowledged as serious enough to spend the holiday together. Emily had gone to Vail with her parents and Reid had flown to Vegas for a couple of days to see his mother, where his holiday had consisted of listening to her read sonnets out loud to him and reminding her that he wasn't twelve.

This year would, by necessity, be different, and he'd resigned himself to being swept up in more typical Christmas accoutrements. So, their home was decorated, there was a tree up in the den, and this afternoon they'd be going to JJ and Will's for Christmas dinner with their BAU family. Tomorrow they'd be leaving for the Prentiss family home in Baltimore for three days, and they had tickets to go visit his mother in Vegas for New Year's.

The whole prospect sounded exhausting to him. He wished they could just stay home and never leave their bedroom for the weeklong holiday break until they could go back to serial killers and leave all this enforced family togetherness behind them for another year.

_This is what you signed up for, smart guy. Getting married automatically doubles the amount of special-occasion festivities you're obligated to show up for._

_Bah, humbug._

He got up and put on his robe. Not just any robe. A brand-new robe, to go with the brand-new pajamas he was wearing. Emily's family had a tradition of gifting new pajamas on Christmas Eve, and she'd presented him with a big box the night before, all smiles. She'd bought herself new pajamas too, and had even wrapped them so she could open them.

He padded downstairs, being quiet. He could now smell something baking as well, and he could hear quiet instrumental Christmas music, the only kind he could tolerate. He lurked in the shadows at the base of the staircase and peered into the den.

Emily was kneeling before the tree, arranging presents underneath. There were decidedly more of them than there had been the night before. She'd lit a fire in the fireplace; it was roaring away now, one might even say merrily. The whole scene was very cozy and – yes, there was even a picturesque snow falling outside the windows. She stood up and surveyed her work, then gave a nod and turned to leave, nearly running right into him. "Oh! Spencer!" she said, clutching her chest. "You scared me!"

"Sorry. You were up early, I see."

She grinned. "It's Christmas morning! The rule in our house was that you couldn't get up until the streetlights went out." She looked so cute in her flannel pjs and robe, her hair still mussed from bed and her face clean and shiny, her eyes sparkling, that he couldn't help but smile back. She hugged him. "Merry Christmas, honey," she said.

He hugged her back. "Merry Christmas to you." He went into the den and looked down at the presents. "What's all this?"

"Oh…well, you must have been a good boy this year, because Santa brought you a couple of things." He looked back at her, bemused, not quite knowing what to say. She came to his side and took his hand. "Spencer…I know you never had a traditional Christmas growing up. I know it makes you uncomfortable. I always had these great family holidays when for once my mother would smile and relax, and there were carolers and cider and cookies and the whole Norman Rockwell ball of wax. It's our first Christmas as a family, and I guess I just wanted to share some of that with you."

He melted a little. She'd gone to so much trouble and here he was being all Scroogelike. "It's certainly different from my usual Christmas," he said. He looked down into her face. "It's amazing. Thank you."

She beamed. "There's coffee and there are cinnamon rolls baking, they'll be done in a few minutes."

"You made cinnamon rolls? When'd you have time to do that?"

"Deb made them, she smuggled them over last night while you were in the study."

"Deb made them?" he repeated, with excitement. Emily was a good cook, and he was becoming not entirely hopeless in the kitchen, but Deb was the best cook in the neighborhood, hands down.

"I know. I jumped on it when she offered to give us some. Well, come on! Let's open some presents!" she said, jumping like a little kid and dragging him over to the tree. She sat down cross-legged on the rug, so he did the same. She reached out and plucked a wrapped gift off the pile and handed it to him. "Oooh, this one's to Spencer from Santa." He took it, watching as his tough-as-nails FBI agent of a wife regressed to the age of ten. "And this one's for me from you!" she said, with a triumphant smile.

He just sat there, his present on his lap, and watched her tear at the wrappings. After a few moments she noticed that he wasn't unwrapping his present.

"Spencer? What?" she said.

"I don't know. I feel strange."

Her face fell. "Oh, no. You're not getting that flu that Morgan had, are you? We've got the thing at my mom's house tomorrow and we're supposed to go to Vegas…"

"No, it isn't that. I'm not sure, I mean I don't know from such things, but I think it might be – Christmas spirit?" he said, smirking.

Emily grinned. "Well, watch out. It gets addictive."

* * *

_Texas  
Sunday, 8:00 pm – 49 hours missing_

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* * *

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Everything felt like it was taking forever. The drive to the airport took forever. Taking off took forever. Now the plane ride down to Nacogdoches, although it would be less than 45 minutes until they landed, was taking forever.

Reid's knee wouldn't stop bouncing. He stared out the window at the impenetrable darkness. Knowing where she was and that they were on their way there had the strange alchemical effect of making everything seem a hundred times more urgent. Not helping was the fact that he couldn't see her anymore. Garcia had promised him to keep watch, and call him if anything important happened to Emily while the team was en route, but he'd gotten used to being able to  _see_  her and reassure himself that she was, if nothing else, alive. It had been hard to tear himself away from that monitor, even though he knew he was going to her. "I'm coming, Em," he'd whispered, taking one last look at her image, slouched against the wall looking so tired, still weeping to lure her captor closer.

Now that they were so close, so near to finding her and bringing her home, the prospect of disaster felt much nearer. He couldn't stop thinking of things he'd never said to her, things they'd never done, plans they hadn't had a chance to make. Their lives were so busy, working cases, traveling – had they carved out enough time for each other? Some days it seemed like they barely exchanged a dozen words. He'd taken it for granted, as she had, that they had all the time in the world to talk and share and just spend together, all the time in the world. It was a cliché, but it could all end without warning.

_It's not ending. Not tonight._

He looked up when Hotch slid into the seat next to him. "You all right?" Hotch asked.

Reid gave him The Eyebrow. "I thought we'd agreed you all were going to stop asking me that."

"Right, of course, I forgot." Hotch seemed to steel himself internally, and Reid could tell that he was about to say something he felt obligated to say. "Reid, I hope you understand that I know how you feel."

"I do."

"What got me through Haley's death was Jack, and the support I got from all of you. So if…"

"I'm not losing her."

"Of course not. But if the worst were to happen – I will be here for you. We all will." His jaw clenched. "The way all of you were there for me."

Part of Reid, the part that was happily dwelling in the land of denial and la-la-la-can't-hear-you and couldn't even entertain the possibility of Emily dying, resented the entire conversation and that Hotch was even suggesting that he might need the team's support after the untimely death of his spouse. But most of him recognized what Hotch was trying to do, and how painful it was for him to even refer to Haley's death. He sighed. "Thanks, Hotch."

The pilot came over the loudspeaker. "Coming into Nacogdoches, folks. Landing in five. Buckle up."

Hotch stood up, placed a hand on Reid's shoulder, and went back to his seat. Reid buckled his seat belt and stared fixedly out the window at the darkness, now speckled once again with lights as the plane descended.

_Soon. I'm going to be there soon, Emily. Hang in there._

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* * *

_  
_

 

Harmon hadn't come back. Emily didn't know how much longer she could cry. She was dangerously dehydrated as it was, she barely had tears enough to fall.

She stood with her back to the wall, letting it take as much of her weight as she could, the throbbing from her lower half steadily spreading upwards toward her chest. The room was spinning and sometimes it looked like the walls were closing in. Once she swore she saw someone looking in the window at her, but she closed her eyes and when she opened them again, it was gone.

"Harmon," she yelled, the name half lost in a sob. That wasn't faked. He had to come if she was going to do anything. "Please," she wailed. It was oddly liberating not to have to keep a stiff upper lip and be strong and silent.

She heard his key in the lock and her heart leapt a little.  _This could be it. Just try and be ready. Adrenaline will get you through it._

Harmon came in. He had nothing in his hands.  _Dammit._  He looked sympathetic, ready to help. He drew that same chair over to her again and let her sit. She melted into the chair and the relief was so great she almost started crying again. "I'm sorry this is so hard," Harmon murmured, taking his own chair right in front of her. "I know how it feels."

"It feels so bad. Please – I want it to stop."

"It can all stop, Emily."

"I can't – I can't go on," she whispered, turning hopefully-baleful eyes up at him, at that loathsomely handsome face. "Please."

"No," he said, in that same feel-your-pain tone of voice. "It's never going to stop."

"Please!" she cried. "What do you want, whatever you want, I'll do."

He fixed her with a steady, calm gaze. "It's not what I want, Emily. It's what I need. I need you to want it. I need you to ask for it."

She couldn't think of what to say. She could barely think at all. She just stared up at him, the pain in her body and the constant undercurrent of grief forming a red haze before her vision, obscuring clarity and befuddling her intentions. She had to fool him. She was afraid she'd fool herself in the process.

When she didn't respond, Harmon just nodded and rose from his chair. He hauled her to her feet and took away her own chair. Emily resumed her standing position with a pained cry and watched him leave.

_Go all in, Lola. Lay your cards down. You're only going to get weaker. Do it now while you can._

"Kurt," she said, trying to get her tone to just the right timbre of hopelessness and resignation. She had to play the one card she'd hoped to keep in her hand. She had to use Spencer to get him to believe her.

He turned.

"I can't go on without him. I can't take any more of this. Please, just kill me."

* * *

The State Police were waiting on the tarmac with four SUVs and a van, plus there were two Forest Service trucks and an ambulance. Reid pulled on his Kevlar, emblazoned with that big white FBI. Sometimes in these situations he was oddly grateful for the glaring identifier. He never felt like he looked like he belonged with the door-kickers and riot-gear crowd. He was always half-waiting for someone to get confused and yell "Hey kid, put that gun down before you hurt yourself!"

_No, I am a Big Bad FBI Agent Man. See my Kevlar? Says so right there._

He shook his head. Absurd thoughts. The team, Detective Bullock and Ranger McCardle hurried down the plane's stairs and half-ran across the lot to where Staties were. They'd brought about ten officers, including a four-man SWAT squad, which ought to be more than enough when added to their own personnel. "Agent Hotchner?" said one officer, stepping forward.

"You must be Lieutenant Malone," Hotch said, shaking the man's hand.

"I am. You ready to brief us before we head on in there? It's gonna get dicey once we're in the woods."

"This is Agent Morgan, he'll present our tactical scenario. Let's dispense with the introductions except I'd like to point out SSA Dr. Spencer Reid," he said, glancing at Reid. "Our missing agent, Emily Prentiss, is Dr. Reid's wife."

Malone nodded to him, his eyes sympathetic, but he was all business. Reid found that profoundly reassuring. This was a man here to do a job, not agonize over the personal consequences. "We've got SWAT and EMTs just like you asked. These Rangers have topographical maps of the area around the maintenance building and the road we'll have to use to get there. We've equipped every vehicle with a satellite phone and we brought enough two-way radios for everybody since our cells ain't gonna work out there. SWAT has night-vision goggles, we've got two more pair and the Rangers here each have their own."

Morgan elbowed in to where the Rangers had maps spread out on the hood of the truck. "Okay. Harmon has extensive surveillance inside his building so we're assuming he has surveillance outside as well. We're going to come in via this road, which has a blind branch about a hundred yards from the building. We'll stage the vehicles there and go in on foot, splitting up into four teams to surround the building. It'll be very important to converge simultaneously; that way even if he sees us coming, he won't be able to escape. We'll need each team carrying handheld floodlights so on the signal we can illuminate the whole building. There's two entrances, front and back. Front entry team will be Agents Hotchner, Reid and Jareau, Detective Bullock and two SWAT. Rear entry team will be myself, Agent Rossi, Lieutenant Malone and the other two SWAT. Flanking teams will cover the sides and windows. EMTs, you're to hang back with the bus at the staging area until you're called for. Rangers, any words about these roads? The condition of the brush around the building would be helpful."

"Tree cover's mostly loblolly and shortleaf pine," one of the anonymous Forestry Service men said. "Those trees are bare trunk well above our heads. Not much brush typically so visibility is good, but this area's going to be overgrown with significant downed trees. Harmon must have cleared the road if he's been passing through so we shouldn't have to worry about that. It's going to be mostly grasses underfoot but watch for down branches."

"Good," Morgan said. "Once all teams are in place, Agent Hotchner will give the signal. When it's given, hit the floodlights and front and rear entry teams will make entry. Once the suspect is apprehended we'll give word. At that time, EMTs bring the bus forward to the building. Agent Prentiss will need medical attention for dehydration and possibly concussion." The two EMTs, both women, nodded. They didn't seem anxious about this late-night raid into the depths of the Angelina Forest. No one did, actually. Reid wasn't sure whether to find that reassuring, or just feel self-conscious that he  _was_  anxious.

_You have more to lose than anyone here. Cut yourself some slack._

"Is everyone clear?" Hotch said. Everyone nodded. "Rangers, I can't ask you to come any further but if you will, your help will be appreciated."

One of them met Hotch's eyes. "We didn't drive an hour up here from Lufkin to stand on the tarmac, Agent. Anyway, technically this building is Forestry Service property, so we ought to be there. Let's go in."

Hotch nodded. "All right. Let's load up. Ranger, you're with me in lead car. EMTs, bring up the rear."

* * *

When Harmon came back in, he had a gun.

Emily sighed in relief. She couldn't help herself. Harmon held it out. "You're happy to see this?"

"I was afraid you'd make me use a knife."

"Oh, no," he said, as if such an idea was simply beyond the pale. "This is much easier. No pain, no waiting. Just point and click." He stood in front of her and watched her face. "There's only one bullet in it."

She nodded. "I won't need more."

"In case you were thinking of shooting me."

"Then I'd be chained here until I die anyway, slow and painful."

"Very true." He came forward until he was right in her face. He leaned one hand on the wall and cocked his head, examining her. "I'm curious about something."

"What?" she said, infusing the word with some get-on-with-it impatience for effect.

"I've been – a solitary man. I've never really had anyone special."

Emily had to ask. "What about Elle?"

"Elle?" he said, half surprised as if he'd forgotten her existence. "Elle was smart and tough. I liked her, I really did. But as time went on I started losing respect for her."

"Because she didn't see through to who you really were."

Harmon nodded. "Sometimes I wonder if that's why I started seeing her. Not all of me wants to be this good at this."

"She saw something in the end though, didn't she?"

"Purely by accident. I regret what happened to her. It couldn't be helped."

Emily sighed. "You were curious about something?"

"Oh, yes. I wonder if you could tell me how it feels."

"How what feels?"

"To love someone the way you loved him."

"That's not past tense. I haven't stopped. I never will."

"Of course. My apologies."

"I don't know. It's just part of me. I don't know if I can explain how it feels."

"Try." Harmon was holding the gun tantalizingly out of reach.

She thought hard. She could have just babbled something out of a Hallmark card, but somehow it was important that she be honest about this. "It feels…well…" She looked up at him. "You know those moving sidewalks in airports?"

"Yes," he said, looking dubious.

"You ever walk while riding on one?"

"Sure."

"When you're on it, you feel like you're flying right along, like it's so easy and the world is lifting you up and carrying you and you're faster than you've ever been and you're Superwoman. Then you get to the end and the ground feels so stupid and slow and you lose your footing. Regular walking seems sludgy after that."

"Okay. What's that mean?"

"Love is like being on the moving sidewalk all the time." She let her chin tremble. "And now I'm off the end and the ground's slow again and I can't even walk at all."

Harmon seemed satisfied. "It'll be over soon. You'll be with him again." She nodded, perking up, glancing at the gun. "Are you ready?"

"Yes, please, yes."

"Okay." He set the gun down on the chair and went to her handcuff. He unlocked it and her right hand fell to her side. She was alarmed at how slow and stiff it felt. She had to use this arm as well as she could, but it felt like a block of wood. She let it hang there, trying to wake it up a little by shaking it. Then, Harmon did something she hadn't dared hope he'd do. He took a small switch out of his pocket and paid out the slack on her shackle, giving her a good five or six feet. He brought her chair around again and let her sit.

He leaned over her, hands on his knees. "Emily, it's time."

"Yes. Please." She was clenching and unclenching her right hand. He could see her doing it, but it couldn't be helped. Hopefully he'd think she was just getting ready to pull the trigger. The feeling was coming back, pins and needles and waking nerves.

"Where will you place the gun barrel?" he asked, sounding fascinated in an academic way.

"Here," she said, pointing her finger at the underside of her chin.

"Not in your mouth?"

"No. The odds of a clean kill are better under the jaw."  _Something else you learned from Spencer. For the rest of your life you're going to be recalling factoids you heard from him and having to remember all over again what you've lost._

He nodded, like he was storing this little tidbit away for future reference. "Do you want me to leave you alone?"

"No. Please, stay."

"All right."

_How do I get him to turn away after he gives me the gun?_

Harmon handed her the gun. It felt good in her hand. It felt like power. She looked down at it, like she imagined she'd do if she were really going to shoot herself. "Can you do me a favor?" she murmured.

"What?"

"Undo the shackle?" she said. Might as well go for the full monty. Nothing to lose.

His eyes narrowed just a hair. "Why?"

"I want to be free when I do it." He hesitated. "I can't run anywhere, Kurt. My legs can't even support me. I can't get past you. Even if I could – there's nothing for me out there, not anymore." She delivered this in a flat monotone.

She didn't expect him to buy it. She thought she'd given herself away. But, incredibly, Harmon reached into his pocket and pulled out a rusted old-fashioned key. He bent to the shackle and unlocked it. It fell away.

Leaving Emily with one bullet she no longer needed to free herself. One bullet that could go into Harmon's heart to match the one he'd put in hers.

She held the gun in her lap, cradling it like a precious gift. "Thank you," she said.

"Take your time," he said, his tone gentle.

Emily lifted the gun and put her finger on the trigger. She placed the barrel under her chin. It felt eerie to do so, that slight temptation to pull the trigger was there, just like that tiny urge to jump off whenever she was at the top of a tall structure.

But not today.

As fast as she could, she whipped the gun out from underneath her jaw, stood up and pointed it at Harmon's chest, ignoring the agony of her legs. Before he could even react, she pulled the trigger.

And heard nothing but the dry click of the hammer striking an empty chamber.

_Oh, motherfucker._

Harmon was just looking at her over the gun barrel, a vaguely disappointed look on his face. "You must think I'm very, very stupid," he said.


	34. Chapter 34

_Angelina National Forest  
Sunday, 9:00 pm – 50 hours missing_

__

* * *

_  
_

 

The road through the woods was, as promised, bumpy and unsettling. They'd almost no sooner entered the forest through a near-invisible Forestry Service backroad than the blacktop gave way to washboard dirt ruts. "Someone's definitely been coming out this way," one of the Rangers said. "New growth grass in the ruts is trampled down."

As soon as they'd gotten in the cars, Reid had called Garcia back in Dallas for an update on Emily. "Nothing's happening, sugar," she'd said. "She's still crying a little but she's getting tired. I haven't seen Harmon, but neither door has opened so he's still in the building."

They'd already lost cell reception, so there'd be no more updates. He'd have to wait and see her for himself.

_Soon. You're going to see her soon._

No one was really talking. The Ranger was driving, Hotch in the front seat and Reid right behind him with Bullock at his side. The SWAT guys were in their own van behind the other SUVs. There'd been some back-and-forth testing of the short wave radios but after that, silence.

Reid pulled Emily's rings out of his pocket. They'd become something of a talisman for him during these long two days. Bullock was watching him. "Your lady's rings?" he said.

He nodded. "And she has mine. Harmon gave them to her to prove he'd killed me."

Bullock's jowly, lined face was creased with emotion. "Stretch, I can't wait to see her face when she sees you."

Reid had been trying not to think about that. He just wanted to get to her and get her out. In her weakened, sorely tested state, seeing him alive might undo her a little. It certainly would him if he were in her place.  _Get in, get her, get out. Everything else can be sorted._  At this point he didn't even care if he never got to say a word to Harmon or even clap an eyeball to the man. Emily was all he cared about.

"Coming up on the staging area," the Ranger said. Hotch picked up the short wave.

"Staging ahead on the right."

Their SUV slowed and the Ranger turned right into a sort of cul-de-sac. He pulled around to the far end and parked, killing the lights. The rest of the caravan joined them, the ambulance parking just off the main road so they could get out again quickly to come to the maintenance building.

The darkness was so thick with the vehicle headlights off that it felt palpable, like black velvet draped over everything. Small flashlights illuminated their steps but didn't make a dent in the surrounding darkness. The group split into their teams. Morgan stepped up. "Okay. We follow the road until we get to the shed. The minute we're in visual range, split off and circle. Got it?" Nods all around. "Let's move in."

* * *

Emily couldn't think or react, she could only stare at the useless gun in her hand.  _Should have clubbed him with it after all._  "How'd you know?" she stammered.  _Stall. Get him talking about how he bested you. He ought to love that topic._

He smiled tightly. "I suspected when you told me you couldn't go on without him. You'd been avoiding that topic. You needed a coup de grace to convince me. I knew for sure when you asked me to stay. You're not a woman who'd commit suicide with an audience. If you were going to do it, you'd want to be alone."

He wasn't wrong about that. "What do you…" That was as far as she got.

Harmon hauled off and punched her across the face, hard enough that it made his previous blows feel like loving caresses. Emily staggered and fell against the wall, her legs screaming and her head spinning. Her hands touched something metal and clunky – it was the chain on her shackle. She saw Harmon coming at her out of her peripheral vision and seized it. She whipped the chain around with all her strength and let it fly at him with a savage cry.

It was a miraculous hit, so much so she could scarcely believe it. The heavy shackle flew through the air, whistling a little, and smashed across Harmon's nose. Blood flew and he was knocked backwards onto his ass on the floor. She kicked him before he could recover; he rolled to the side, his head knocking against the wall where she'd been chained. Emily picked up the gun where it had fallen and flung herself at him while he was down. She landed on his midsection and pinned him. He was still stunned from the shackle blow. She grabbed his wrist and yanked it up to the open handcuff dangling from the D-ring in the wall, then slapped it shut. She seized his shirt and yanked his head and shoulders up off the floor. "Who's stupid now, motherfucker?" she snarled.

Harmon, semi-conscious, actually grinned up at her with a mouthful of bloody teeth. "You…didn't…disappoint, Emily," he croaked, sounding slurred and mushy.

She could feel the pulse in his throat, the blood running in his carotid artery and his jugular vein, and she saw before her eyes the picture he'd shown her of Spencer's blood spilled, his life extinguished, and that red haze returned. Rage obscured her vision and she dropped the gun so she could grab him in both hands and smash his head back down against the concrete.

"You gonna kill me?" Harmon said. "Kill me because I killed him?"

"Yes," she said, her face inches from his.

"Then…something you…oughta know."

"What?"

He met her eyes and she saw a decision go by behind his. His lip curled in a sneer. "The last thing he said was your name," he gasped out.

Then the red haze took her. She didn't hear the front door slamming open, she didn't hear voices, familiar voices, not even when they burst into her cell, not even when they were saying her name.

* * *

Their well-thought-out tactical scenario went out the window pretty quickly, more quickly than even Hotch thought it would.

They were skulking up to the building through this inky blackness, unnerving in its completeness. A dim light came through the trees from a low-wattage bulb over the door of the maintenance office, the incongruous high-tech satellite dish now visible as well. Morgan was just about to give the go-ahead to split off when the satellite phone clipped to Hotch's belt chirped at him. He held up a hand for all to stop. Everyone halted and crouched low.

"What?" he hissed into the phone.

It was Garcia. "Hotch, Emily's in trouble! You've got to move in now!" She kept talking but Hotch didn't need to hear the details. He trusted Garcia. He hung up and yelled to the team, tossing caution to the wind.

"Move in, now! Police around back, SWAT to the front with us!"

To his credit, Reid didn't ask what Garcia had said, but then he probably didn't have to ask. Gun drawn, he ran alongside Hotch and JJ to the front door of the shed. Morgan peeled off to go around back with Rossi and the police. Hotch and Reid flanked the door and a SWAT officer came up with a battering ram. "Hang on," Hotch said, then reached down and tried the knob. "It's open." He met Reid's eyes and nodded one, two, three, then he shouldered the door open and they ran in, guns raised.

"Emily!" Reid yelled, ignoring protocol. Hotch didn't much care, but he held Reid back from rushing headlong through the corridors. They moved quickly through the structure, meeting Morgan and Rossi coming from the other direction.

"Through here!" Morgan said, heading down another corridor.

There was one door at the end of the blind hallway, and now they could all hear sounds of a struggle coming from inside. Morgan kicked the door in and Hotch followed him inside.

This was the room they'd been looking at for days. Harmon was on his back on the ground, one hand cuffed to the wall with what looked like the same cuff Emily'd been bound with. Emily was straddling him, hitting him across the face with a wild, unhinged look on her own. Unintelligible half-words and grunts were coming from her.

Hotch had to take half a second to head off the flashback to Foyet that his mind wanted to drop into at the sight of her. "Emily!" Reid cried. He and Morgan rushed forward and pulled her off Foyet… _not Foyet, Harmon_ …by the arms. She struggled and fought them. She wasn't seeing them, or hearing them. She was only seeing Harmon, and what she thought he'd done. Hotch knew, because he had been where she was.

JJ was crouching by Emily now, all three of them trying to calm her and probably making it worse. Hotch kept back, not wanting to get in the way. Emily's eyes happened to fall on JJ and she seemed to see her. She wasn't registering Morgan, or even her own husband. "JJ," she gasped. "He…he killed Spencer…" she said, with a lunge back toward Harmon.

Reid reached out and seized both her arms, turning her towards him. "Emily!" he said, his tone sharp and commanding, as Hotch had never heard come from Reid. "Emily, look at me!" He gave her a quick shake.

She stared up at him with unseeing eyes, her whole form visibly quaking and her chest heaving. Hotch saw awareness return to her, crashing into her gaze. Her eyes widened and widened until it seemed they had to fall right out. Her hands reached out and touched his upper arms. "Spencer?" she whispered. " _Spencer?_ " she repeated, her tone a disbelieving entreaty.

"He didn't kill me, Em. He faked the evidence he showed you. It was part of his scheme to get you to kill yourself. I'm not dead." No one in the room was looking anywhere but at them. Even Harmon, his face bloodied but not beyond repair, was watching. No one was moving or making a sound. Emily lifted one shaky hand to touch his face. Reid smiled, tears slipping down his cheeks. "I'm right here, baby," he whispered.

She didn't say a word, just grabbed his shoulders and pulled herself in, clutching her shaking arms around his neck. Reid shut his eyes and enfolded her tightly, one hand on the back of her head. Hotch saw him exhale with relief. Emily's fingers were digging into his back, her eyes still wide and not entirely believing. She abruptly pulled away. "Are you real?" she asked.

"I'm real, it's all real. You're okay now, everything's going to be fine," he said, his words tumbling over each other.

She silently ran her hands over his face, his neck, and his chest, like she was testing that he wasn't a ghost. She stopped and looked up into his eyes, then buried herself in his arms again. Hotch could almost  _see_  her drawing her composure back around herself like a shield.

"It's okay. Everything's okay," he said, speaking into her hair. "Thank god you're all right."

"I thought you were dead," she said, her voice muffled. "He showed me…"

"I know what he showed you. It's okay."

She drew back. "But…how do you know what he showed me? How did you…"

"Shh. I'll explain everything later. Let's just get you out of here."

Rossi and Morgan were hauling Harmon to his feet after freeing him from the wall. Emily and Reid both turned to stare up at him, Emily staying in the protective circle of Reid's arms, her head tucked under his chin. Reid's glare could have blistered paint. Emily looked like she might say something, but then she swallowed it back and just tightened her arms around Reid's waist.

Harmon just shook his head at Reid. "It took you longer to get here than I thought it would," was all he said.

"Shut up," Morgan growled at him. Two State Police had come in and they now took custody of Harmon, leading him stumbling from the room.

Hotch got on the two-way. "EMTs, bring the bus in. Harmon's coming out on foot, he's got facial lacerations and probably a broken nose but he's okay. Agent Prentiss seems all right but we'll want her moved to the hospital in Dallas."

"Copy."

JJ put a hand to Emily's shoulder and squeezed it, then stood up to join Hotch. "We need a forensic team here including computer forensics. There could be evidence here of his kills, and he may have other victims we're not aware of."

"The kidnapping of a federal agent gives the Bureau jurisdiction over all Harmon's crimes. I'm going to suggest to the Dallas chief that we take over the case including Elle's death and the kills that he had Nathan claim. Those are multijurisdictional anyway. We'll make the calls on the way back. The State Police can secure the crime scene. Detective, you mind sticking around?" he said, turning to Bullock, who had hung back to avoid crowding the small room.

Bullock didn't seem to hear him. He was watching the reunited agents with watery eyes and a not-gonna-cry look on his face. "Huh?" Bullock said, realizing Hotch had just spoken to him. "Oh. Sure. Yeah, I'll stick round till forensics gets here from Nacogdoches. Guessin you and yer team be wantin to get her back to Dallas?"

"There's a hospital in Nacogdoches but she seems well enough to travel so I'd just as soon get back to Dallas so we can leave as soon as things are wrapped up." He looked down at Reid and Prentiss, not immune to the emotionality of the sight of them in a tight embrace, not speaking. Morgan looked like he was about to cry, too. In fact, the calmest person in the room was Emily. Someone else might have been surprised at her level of self-possession given that she'd just learned that her much-loved husband was not dead as she'd thought, but Hotch wasn't. He'd seen Emily do this in moments of extreme emotion. She'd snap out of it in time when she felt safe enough to handle it. "Emily, we need to get you out of here."

She looked up at him, like she'd just noticed he was in the room. "Oh…Hotch. Morgan." She smiled, but the weariness was crashing in on her now that her adrenaline rush was leaving. "Damn, it's good to see you guys. You too, Detective."

"It sure is good to see you safe, ma'am," Bullock said. "Betcher happy to see yer fella, here."

She sighed. "You have no idea," she said. Hotch could hear the grief still haunting those words.

"Can you get up?" Reid said, moving to a crouch to assist her.

"I…I think so. My legs are bad. I've been standing for almost two days."

"We know."

She looked up at him, frowning. "There's that again. How do you know?"

Reid glanced up at Hotch. They weren't going to be able to put this off. "Garcia was able to hack into Harmon's camera feeds but she couldn't trace them. We've been able to see you this whole time."

Emily looked stunned. She started to say something, then just shook her head. "Okay…I'll just process that later. Help me up?" Reid stood, keeping hold of her arms. She hung on to him and started to haul herself off the ground. Morgan put his arm around her waist and helped lift her until she was upright. "Ooh…goddamn," she said, teeth clenched, leaning heavily on Reid.

"Okay?"

She nodded. "Let's go." They shuffled forward and got into the hallway, but it quickly became clear she couldn't do it. "I'm sorry, I'm – I feel like I'm made of glass. I don't think I can walk very far."

Hotch got out the two-way. "I'll get the EMTs to bring the…" Before he could finish the thought, Reid bent down, picked her up and headed for the door. "Never mind," he said under his breath, as he and Morgan followed behind.

Morgan leaned in. "I'm kind of amazed he can lift her," he muttered.

Hotch didn't reply, but he wasn't amazed. He knew that feeling, that need to protect and fight. And he knew how much Reid loved Emily. He had never needed to be told, he could see it. He saw it in his eyes, in his face, in his body language when he was near her, in the way he looked at her and the way he talked to her, even when they were being professional. And he knew that when a man felt that way, if the woman he loved needed him, he would find that he had strength he never could have imagined.


	35. Chapter 35

When Reid emerged from the maintenance building carrying Emily, just for a second he felt like he was in a movie. The vehicles had been moved to the building's parking area and there were lights everywhere. Floodlights, headlights, flashlights – and they all seemed to be directed at him. Everyone was _looking._  He moved toward the ambulance with all due haste. He barely felt the weight of Emily in his arms. He was certainly no powerhouse of muscle but she only weighed 121 pounds, as of the last time she'd weighed herself when he'd been in the bathroom. He was also strongly motivated, not to mention bristling with adrenaline.

He set her on the gurney the EMTs had set up by the ambulance's back doors. He glanced over to see one of them tending to Harmon's face wounds, keeping him well sequestered and surrounded by state police. Emily's eyes were following Reid like she still couldn't quite believe he was there. "Okay?" he murmured, smoothing her mussed hair back from her face. "Are you in pain?"

"You're alive," she said, as if that answered his question.

He swallowed hard and pressed his lips to her temple. He wanted very badly to kiss her for real, but she was guarding herself closely just now. Her emotions were still too hot to the touch. Even he would be kept at arm's length until they were cool enough to handle. "You know I'm not a praying man, but I prayed," he said, quietly. "That you'd be okay."

"You're an atheist. Who'd you pray to?"

"I don't know. The universe? Carl Sagan? Whoever might be listening. It didn't matter. I might have just been talking to myself."

JJ came hurrying up. "Emily, thank goodness," she said, embracing Emily fiercely.

"Thank God you guys found me," she said.

"Looked to me like you were about ready to blow this joint on your own."

Emily fidgeted and looked down at her bloody hands. "I don't know what I was about to do. I was…" She shook her head. "I was out of my head." She looked up at him, then back down at her hands.

"I'll be right back," he said to her. She gripped his hand and an edge came into her face. "I'm just going to get something to clean your hands," he said.

She nodded, relaxing. "Sorry. I'm just…I might not want to let you out of my sight for a little while."

"That goes double for me." She let go of his hand and he went to the back of the bus where the EMT was gathering some tools. "Do you have something I can use to wash the blood off her hands? It's freaking her out."

"Sure," she said. She handed him a towel. "Here, this is antiseptic," she said, holding out a bottle. "It'll get the blood off and disinfect any scrapes or cuts she gave herself."

"Is she okay?" he asked, dropping his voice.

"I haven't examined her yet, but if she's talking and conscious and making sense, she's probably okay. Just exhausted. She'll be very dehydrated, I might have to start an IV."

Reid nodded and returned to the gurney, where JJ and Emily were still talking. He picked up one of her hands and started cleaning it off. "How did you guys get here?" Emily was asking.

"You can thank Spence for that," JJ said. "He calculated how far east you were by the difference in time of sunrise between us and you. And we knew that Harmon was somewhere without cell phone coverage. This was the most likely place that fit those critera and we knew Harmon was familiar with it. Garcia confirmed it with some satellite images."

"Dr. Reid cracks the case," Emily said, smiling.

He shook his head. "I should have seen it sooner," he said, the bloodstains now cleaned off both of her hands.

The EMT stepped up. "I need to examine her now, okay?"

"I've got a lot of calls to make," JJ said, making her no-rest-for-the-weary face. She squeezed Emily's hand and walked off to one of the SUVs.

"Hey, Reid!" Morgan said, hailing from across the clearing. "C'mere a sec!"

He looked down at Emily. She gave him another weak smile. "Go ahead. I'm all right."

Turning his back and walking away was hard. Harder than he would have thought. "What is it?" he asked as he reached Morgan, who was standing with Hotch and Rossi.

He held out the satellite phone. "Thought you'd want to share the good news."

Reid smiled and took it. "Garcia?"

"Oh my sweetness is Emily okay?"

"She's fine. The EMT is checking her right now. She's a little bruised and super tired, but she'll be okay."

He could hear Garcia starting to cry. "I watched her try and shoot him, and then he hit her…but she fought back so hard she was so brave oh my sweet fierce girl and I can't wait to give her a big hug." Each word rolled right over the one preceding without pause or concern.

Reid could only imagine the sequence of events Garcia was half-describing that had led to Emily getting Harmon handcuffed to the wall and beating the hell out of him, but he'd be able to see for himself when they got back to Dallas, so he didn't bother asking for clarification. The details had suddenly become far less important now that she was out of there and safe. "I'm sure she'll be glad to see you, too."

"Not as glad as she was to see you, I bet," Garcia said, sniffling some more.

"Yeah," Reid said, shuffling his feet a little. "She was glad."

"Derek said she couldn't walk so you carried her out of there and that you looked like a superhero."

Reid cocked an eyebrow at Morgan, who could hear all of this. "He said  _that?_ "

"Oh, my boy genius is all grown up, being all manly and heroic," she said, snuffling some more.

Reid just shook his head. "Garcia, dial it down to eleven. I didn't do anything, she did it all. Even if we hadn't gotten here, she would have been in Harmon's car and on her way home by now. I need to get going. You need Morgan back again?"

"No, I've got stuff to do here. You all just hurry back, okay? And take good care of your brave sweetie."

"I will, believe me." He hung up and stared at Morgan, who was beaming like a proud brother. "A superhero?"

"You should have seen yourself, Reid."

"I think you're exaggerating. On your worst day you're more manly than I've ever found it necessary to be."

"Well…" Morgan cleared his throat and glanced away, then back again, like he was embarrassed. "You're the man, kid."

"Don't give me the credit here, Morgan. Somehow Emily got herself free and Harmon ended up cuffed to the wall. She kept it together, she kept her head even after everything he said and did. She rescued herself. We just got here in time to pick up the pieces."

Morgan looked past him to where Emily was sitting on the gurney on the other side of the clearing. "How's she holding up?" he said,  _sotto voce._

Reid thought a moment, hands in his pockets. "I'm worried. She's too calm." He knew why. He'd seen it a hundred times. It was the Prentiss Lockdown again.

"She got a hold of herself pretty fast once she saw you were alive," Morgan was saying. "Too fast, maybe, like she was trying to forget all of it instantly."

"With what she's been through, she's doing that 'I'm fine perfectly fine' thing."

"Yeah. Cause none of the rest of us ever do that," Morgan said.

"It'll hit her eventually. When it's me it usually takes a few hours."

"My time to liftoff is usually however long it takes me to get home to my dog," Morgan said.

* * *

The EMT asked her if she had any blurred vision, nausea or dizziness. Emily was tempted to laugh in her face.  _How's all of the above? Plus hallucinations and euphoria and massive leg pain? Plus the urge to either laugh like a maniac or cry hysterically, possibly at the same time?_  She'd been given a bottle of water with strict instructions to sip slowly, which took more will power than she would have thought she possessed. "I don't think you have a concussion," the EMT said, after shining lights in her eyes and playing follow-the-finger. "Most of your symptoms are related to the dehydration." She smiled. "You're going to be fine, Agent Prentiss."

"Yeah, I am," she murmured. Her eyes kept wandering away to zero in on Reid, his tall, slender form easy to spot.

She wasn't one hundred percent sure this wasn't still some grief-and-deprivation induced hallucination. She could now admit to herself that when they'd come in and pulled her off Harmon, she hadn't been all there. Anger, pain, grief, revenge, adrenaline and sheer hatred had mixed into too strong a cocktail for her to stay sober. Then looking up and there was Spencer. At first she was sure he wasn't real. She was seeing things. But she could feel his hands gripping her arms – but he couldn't be real. He was dead, she'd lost him, she'd been living with that knowledge for what felt like a very long time. But he had been real, and the idea that now she could just say "never mind" to all the pain and grief she'd been psyching herself up for was too wonderful to be true.

_My husband's not dead. I'm not a widow. I won't have to think about his funeral or go to bed without him or find a way to tell his mother. He's going to be with me now and for years and years to come just like we planned and oh God we can go to Italy after all and I can kiss him whenever I want and if this is a hallucination, please don't ever let me wake up._

Emerging from that building into the bright lights, all of them pointed at her, arrowing sharp daggers of pain into her abused and tired brain. She'd turned her head away, clinging to Spencer as he carried her out. She'd heard Morgan mutter that he was surprised Reid could lift her. She wasn't. She didn't question his arms supporting her, she trusted them because she trusted him, and they felt strong and sure as he set her on the gurney.

"My name's Jill, by the way," the EMT said, smiling.

"Nice to meet you. Thanks for the checkup."

"No problem. This is the most excitement we've seen in months." A frown crossed Jill's face. "I mean…wow, that was insensitive. You've just been through this awful ordeal and I'm calling it excitement."

"It's okay, I get what you mean."

"So you're an FBI agent?"

Emily nodded, grateful for Jill's chattiness. Spencer was on the phone and she desperately wanted him to come back over, which made her feel stupid, weak and clingy which in turn made her feel embarrassed and belligerent, so she was happy to be distracted talking to the EMT. She wasn't thick enough not to know that Jill was engaging her in conversation to gauge her mental faculties, either. "Yep. My team is the Behavioral Analysis Unit."

"Profilers, huh? That stuff's fascinating."

"It can be. It can be pretty horrible, too."

"I bet. Serial killers." Jill leaned in. "So…who's the really hot guy?"

Emily smirked. "The one by the car? That's Agent Morgan. You want an introduction?"

Jill waved it off. "Nah. Just admiring the scenery." She looked back over to where the team was standing in a loose group. "That guy next to him with the long hair isn't so bad, either," she said, winking at her. Emily could only smile vaguely. She had no response to that right now. She couldn't joke about her husband being cute. To her, he wasn't. To her, right now, he was the most beautiful man that had ever or would ever walk on the planet. In fact, she couldn't joke about anything having to do with him. In her euphoria that he was here and alive, she couldn't imagine ever again arguing with him or getting impatient with him or finding any of his many quirks frustrating.

She shook her head, allowing herself a slight chuckle.  _Yeah. That'll last until the next time he leaves a coffee cup to mold in some corner of the library or won't stop talking during a movie._

__

* * *

_  
_

 

The EMT was just finishing up when Reid came back to the gurney. Emily studiously wasn't watching him approach, keeping her attention firmly on the EMT.  _She's feeling clingy and needy and trying to hide it because it's offensive to her ideals of independence_. "Everything okay here?" he asked.

"Everything okay," the EMT said. "You try and drink some more of that water," she told Emily. "But don't drink too fast, you'll get sick. We're going to want to start you with an IV when you get to the hospital."

"Will I have to ride back to Nacogdoches in the ambulance?" Emily asked.

"Not unless you want to. You should be okay until you get to Dallas."

Emily shook her head. "I'd rather not make the trip on a gurney."

"We'll get her on the plane and to the hospital as soon as we can," Reid said. The EMT patted Emily's shoulder and retreated back to the ambulance, leaving them alone.

"Who was on the phone?" she asked him.

"Garcia. She says she can't wait to see you and give you a big hug."

"Man, a Penelope hug would feel pretty great right about now."

"Well, will one of mine do for the time being?"

She gave him another weak smile and let him hug her, her hands rising to rest against the small of his back. This wasn't how he wanted it. He wanted to be kissing her deeply with his hands plunged into her hair. She felt small and fragile in his arms, and that wasn't like her. She was usually  _there_  when they hugged, squeezing him back. But he knew that she couldn't engage right now, or else she might not be able to hold the Lockdown.

Then, she abruptly pulled away, averting her eyes. "Oh, God, I'm sorry," she said as they drew. "I probably don't smell very good."

"Emily, I don't care how you smell," he said, stroking her cheek with his thumb.

"Spencer?"

"Hmm?"

"Can I have my rings back?"

"Oh my gosh, yes," he said, digging in his pocket. He could have kicked himself that he hadn't thought of that sooner. He drew out her rings and offered them to her.

She looked at them in the palm of his hand, then shook her head and simply held out her left hand, waiting.

He nodded, hoping he could get through this little demonstration without losing it completely. He sat on the gurney at her side and hitched one knee up so he was facing her. She did the same, still holding out her hand. He took a breath and slid first the engagement ring, then the wedding band back into their places. It didn't seem quite right to just leave it at that, so he drew her hand up to his mouth and kissed the knuckles, letting his lips linger there for a long moment before lowering it.

She gave him a shaky smile. "Okay, your turn," she murmured, and pulled his ring off her thumb, having to yank a bit to get it off. He held out his hand and she took it in both of hers, slipping the ring back where it belonged. He smiled to see it there. That hand felt right again now.

She wasn't letting go. She just kept hold of his hand in both of hers, rubbing it in a distracted, almost compulsive motion. He couldn't see her face with her head bowed as it was, but he could feel her trembling. She curled over herself and pressed her forehead to the back of his hand, rough shaky breaths escaping her, shoulders hitching with the effort she was expending to keep it together. He put his other hand on top of her head. "It's okay," he whispered. "Let it go."

She dropped his hand and her fingers scrabbled at him, grasping and manic. He reached out and drew her onto his lap just as hoarse, punishing sobs broke through her composure. He felt a seam on his shirt tear as she pulled at him, but that didn't matter. He locked his arms around her and tried to keep her still. Her whole form heaved, her chest spasming and working against itself, gasping in and coughing out at the same time. He was pretty sure he'd have bruises from her fingers on his back, but he didn't care.

He held her head to his shoulder. Tears were running down his own face now, he couldn't help it. "I thought I lost you," she said, the words nearly unintelligible, stuttering and choked.

Reid tipped her head back and kissed her the way he'd been aching to. She gave it back with panicky ferocity, one hand in his hair. He held her face and kissed every part of it he could reach, then pulled her back against him.

"Oww," she said, jerking a little.

He eased off, realizing too late that her ribs and abdomen were bruised from Harmon's blows. "Oh…I'm so sorry," he said.

"No, I don't care," she said, clutching him tight to her again. "Don't let go of me."

"I won't, not ever."

Her breath was warm on his neck, her tears wetting the skin. He pulled his other leg onto the gurney and sat cross-legged; she drew her knees up until they fit like puzzle pieces. Bit by bit, she calmed. He stroked her back, feeling her whole body sag in exhaustion and release as she let herself drop back into the world.

All around them, people were walking and talking and making preparations. He barely noticed Harmon being driven away in the back of one of the SUVs with some of the State Police, nor that everyone was giving them space. He glanced up once to see Morgan watching them. He gave Reid a slight nod which Reid didn't bother to return.

Emily's hand wandered blindly up to his face; her thumb left a stroke of warmth across his lips. She pulled him down and sealed her lips over his, drawing herself up into the kiss, her mouth softly demanding. Reid shut his eyes and let himself get lost, like he'd done so often before, her touch the only thing that had ever quieted his noisy, persistent brain and just let him be in a moment, just be human, just be Spencer, and know that she loved him for that alone even if everything else went to crap.

* * *

They rode toward the airfield in Nacogdoches with Hotch and Morgan. Emily sat in the center of the back seat with Spencer on one side of her and Jill the EMT on the other. Jill's partner had driven the ambulance back, so Jill had volunteered to ride along to keep an eye on Emily.

She felt worse, actually. At first the adrenaline from her fight with Harmon and then the massive emotional shock of seeing Spencer alive had masked her body's protests. Then she'd had to put on her I'm-Okay-You're-Okay face, although now she couldn't remember why she'd thought that necessary.

Safe in the car, really and truly out of that hellish cell and away from Harmon and his fists and his poisonous words, her body was sending up red flags right and left. Her legs were terrifically sore and tingly, like they couldn't wake up from being asleep. Her neck felt out of joint. Her whole midsection was tender and seemed to pull on itself every time she took a breath. Her face felt swollen and she still felt massively dehydrated despite the sips of water Jill kept giving her.

They cleared the National Forest and got on the highway. Hotch hit the lights and they were off to the races. She sighed with relief at the smoothness of the road, but the relief was short-lived. Something was wrong in her guts.

"Spencer," she croaked, grabbing at his sleeve. "I'm going to be sick."

"Hotch, pull over!" he said. Hotch swerved to the side of the road and stopped.

Spencer opened the door and jumped out, then half-lifted her out. She staggered to the grass and bent over, heaving. There was nothing in her stomach but bile and acid but up it came. Her heaves continued, each retch making her moan with pain as her sore abdomen protested. She could feel Spencer holding her hair, his other hand rubbing her back. She heard a female voice, Jill's. "Emily, are you dizzy?"

"Um…yeah," she said, eyes squinched shut. It wasn't over quite yet.

Jill turned to Hotch, who'd gotten out as well and come around the SUV. "Get on the radio and have Emma meet us here with the bus. She's worse than I thought at first, she needs an IV now. I don't want to wait until she gets to the hospital. We'll drive her to Dallas, she shouldn't fly right now, anyway."

"It's a three and a half hour drive."

"It'll give her time to hydrate and rest. She'll be more comfortable lying down in the ambulance."

Hotch nodded and went back to the car to do as she suggested. Emily thought she was probably done. She straightened up. "Hooo boy," she breathed. She tried to take a step and nearly fell; Spencer and Jill caught her between them.

"Sit down," he said, helping her back to the car and onto the seat. He fixed her with a disapproving look. "You should have said you were feeling that bad."

"I wasn't. Not until just now." She grasped his hand. "I thought I'd be okay."

He shook his head. "Ignoring your body is pretty stupid, Em. You're not a brain in a vat like a solipsist mad science experiment."

She smiled. "Good memory."

"Please. Remember who you're talking to," he said, a hint of a smirk sneaking through his stern expression.

Hotch turned around in his seat. "Ambulance will be here in five minutes."

"Good," Jill said. She'd come around the other side and was taking Emily's pulse and blood pressure. "Her blood pressure's dropped since I took it back at the crime scene."

Emily, watching Spencer's face, saw a flicker of worry cross it and then vanish. "I'll be fine, my love," she whispered.

"You better," he said, going for 'scolding' and ending up closer to 'fretting.'

The ambulance pulled up a few minutes later, and Jill's partner Emma brought the gurney around. "I've called ahead to Dallas," she told them. "They'll have a room ready when we arrive. They know the story, Detective Bullock called them, too."

Spencer and Morgan helped her onto the gurney. Lying back on it felt divine. Jill looked across her to Spencer. "Are you coming with us, Dr. Reid?"

He stared at her. "Are you kidding me?"

"It's just not too comfy riding in an ambulance for three hours if you're not on a gurney."

"You think I'll leave her alone in an ambulance because I might be uncomfy?"

Jill raised an eyebrow. "I've seen people left alone for far worse excuses."

"Well, those people weren't married to me," he said.

Emily patted his hand. "Their misfortune, honey," she said. The gurney started to move and after a bit of a rumbly trip and a big bump, she was in the ambulance and Jill was starting an IV. She did it so quickly and expertly that Emily was barely aware it was in until Jill started taping the tubing to her arm.

Drowsiness was coming over her in great, billowy waves. "So sleepy," she said.

"Go ahead and sleep, Em," Spencer murmured. "She can sleep, right?" he asked Jill.

"Sure. She doesn't have a concussion. The rest will do her good." Jill put a hand on her shoulder. "You'll feel lots better when you wake up and you've drained this bag of saline," she said.

Emily nodded. She looked over at her husband, sitting on the bench at her side and watching her. His expression was full of so much love and concern that for a moment, in her half-addled state, Emily was almost overwhelmed by the feeling she had for him. She reached up for his hand; he took hers immediately, rubbing her arm with his other. "I love you, Spencer," she said, trying to sound definitive but her voice was barely more than a thin hiss. She couldn't believe she hadn't yet said this to him since finding out he wasn't dead. "I love you," she repeated. She had to make him understand. There had to be better words, but right now she couldn't think of what they might be.

He smiled, wetness glimmering in his eyes. He leaned over and kissed her forehead, leaving a soft footprint of warmth behind when he drew back. "I love you, too, sweetheart," he whispered in her ear.

She smiled back. "You called me sweetheart. You never do that," she managed before her eyes closed, and sleep carried her away with his words to follow her down.


	36. Chapter 36

Emily jerked awake with a half-uttered cry.  _Oh my God Spencer's dead Harmon where's Harmon is he going to kill me he killed Spencer…_

"Emily! It's okay, shhhh, it's all right." She felt hands on her, touching her shoulders and forehead, and Spencer's voice.

_I dreamed he was alive. Wait…was it a dream? I'm afraid to find out._

She opened her eyes and looked up. She was in an ambulance. Spencer was leaning over her. "You were dreaming," he said, his voice low and soothing.

"Spencer," she sobbed, pulling herself up and into his arms. She clutched him to her, he was solid and real and alive beneath her hands. Her defenses were demolished coming out of the nightmare, the tears flowed before she could stop them.

"It's okay," he murmured in her ear. "Don't try and be stoic right now."

She couldn't have if she wanted to. She buried her face in his shoulder, the warmth of his skin and the smell of his hair surrounding her, sensations that her brain had come to associate with him in a kind of primate mate-recognition that helped calm her half-waking panic. She sighed, her sobs tapering off. "You smell good," she whispered, her voice clogged.

He chuckled. "I doubt that, I've been up for two days and tramping around in the woods."

She relaxed against his chest. "Sorry. I freaked out a little."

"Don't apologize. I've been sitting here quietly freaking out while you were sleeping. Haven't I, Jill?" he said, addressing the EMT, sitting calmly across from them, tactfully looking away.

"Oh yeah. Total freak-out. I thought I might have to sedate him."

Emily smiled. "You big liar."

He drew back and put his hand on her cheek. "I'm so sorry I didn't find you sooner," he said.

"It's over now," she said. Her eyelids were drooping again.

"Lie back down, go back to sleep. We'll be in Dallas in an hour." He eased her back down onto the gurney.

She looked up at him, everything spinny and woozy. "Will you be here when I wake up?" she heard herself ask.

He nodded. "Always."

* * *

_Dallas, Texas  
Monday, 3:30 am_

__

* * *

_  
_

 

Despite the hour, it was a bit of a mob scene at the precinct as the hours rolled on towards dawn.

The reporters who'd been circling the story for days now had word that a man who'd killed not only Elle but seven young men all over Texas, then kidnapped an FBI agent, had been arrested and his hostage rescued. They were clamoring for comments and statements, recording B-roll and stand-ups in front of the precinct for the morning news, and JJ's phone wouldn't stop ringing. Police were swarming everywhere, on the phone to other jurisdictions, arguing with DAs, collecting evidence.

JJ corralled the reporters and told them there'd be a press conference soon. She kept it intentionally vague. Garcia and Gideon were holed up in the conference room, the doors shut. "Where is everyone?" Gideon asked as she entered.

"They went straight to the hospital."

"Is Emily okay?" Garcia asked, turning from her screens.

"Looks that way. She took a turn for the worse in the car on the way to the airfield, so they transferred her to the ambulance for the trip while everyone else flew back on the jet. She's in a room now. They're going to keep her for a little while. Hotch and Morgan dropped me and Rossi off."

"Where's Rossi?"

"He's calling the local field office. If the Bureau's taking this case they ought to be in charge. Our job is done. I think Hotch is eager to get us all back to DC. He was talking about leaving tomorrow…or, I guess, later today."

"Computer forensics is set up down at Harmon's hideout. They've patched me in to his server."

"Anything new?"

"Nope. We already knew about the videos and still photos of his kills. No evidence he's killed anyone else." She shook her head. "Not that he hasn't done enough. Poor Elle."

JJ sat down next to her. "I feel like she's been a bit lost in the shuffle."

"We had to concentrate on finding Emily."

"I know, I know. At least Elle will get justice."

"When can I go to the hospital?" Garcia asked.

"I'd like to go, too," Gideon said.

"Let me call Reid." She got out her phone and dialed.

"Dr. Reid."

"Spence, it's JJ. Everything okay?"

"She's all admitted. They gave her a private room. She's still sleeping but she looks better."

"Garcia and Gideon want to know if they can come to the hospital. I have to stay until this press conference is over."

"That's up to them. Computer forensics is taking over examining Harmon's computer."

"Rossi's getting ready to brief the local Bureau, they'll take over the case now. We're about done here."

"Then tell them they can come whenever they want. I don't know how Emily will feel when she wakes up, or when that'll be, but I could use the company."

"Okay. Are Hotch and Morgan there yet?"

"No, not…oh, wait, I see them. They're coming down the hall." She heard muffled conversation and then Hotch took over Reid's phone.

"JJ, tell Rossi that I want to be ready to leave whenever Emily's well enough to travel."

"He knows. Can Garcia pack it up here?"

"Yes. Have her coordinate with computer forensics and give them all her findings before she does."

"She and Gideon want to go to the hospital."

"That's up to them. And call personnel and tell them that both Prentiss and Reid are taking two weeks paid leave."

"Do Emily and Spence know that?"

"Not yet. Update Strauss too, if you have time before the press conference."

"Will do. See you soon." She hung up. "Garcia…"

"I'm already taking care of it, Jaje," she said. "Computer forensics will have all my files. I'm uploading the footage of Emily to my own laptop. Everyone will want to see what happened while you guys were en route."

"Good." She put a hand on Garcia's shoulder. "And we should talk about that party we're planning."

Garcia's wide smile lit her face like a Christmas tree. "You betcha, sugar."

* * *

Reid sat by Emily's bedside, just watching her sleeping face. Already she looked better. Even in the darkness and chaos of Harmon's hideout and later on the road, he'd been able to see that she had a sick, waxy pallor that worried him, but she had some color in her cheeks now. Morgan was sitting on the other side of the bed. Hotch was out in the hall on the phone.

Reid straightened up and turned his head, and a sudden wave of vertigo hit him. He put his hand on the arm of his chair and shut his eyes. "Whoa."

Morgan leaned forward. "You okay?"

"Yeah, just…" He shook his head. "It's nothing."

"You haven't slept in like two days, you've barely eaten anything. Emily's not the only one who needs rest. You oughta find someplace to lie down."

"I'm okay."

"You're not okay."

"Morgan," he said, a warning in his voice. "Quit handling me."

"Then don't make me come over there and handle you, cause I'll do it!"

"Who's handling my guy?" came a groggy voice.

Both of them turned to look down at Emily. "Well hey there, tough girl," Morgan said, grinning. Reid found that he couldn't speak. He leaned forward and looked down at her. She was bruised and matted and still pale, and she was so beautiful it made him ache. She smiled up at him and he felt tears prickle at at the corners of his eyes.

She tsked him, lifting one hand to his cheek. "No crying," she whispered.

"How do you feel?" he said, sucking it up.

She sighed and shifted a little in the bed. "Better. How long have I been asleep?"

"We got here about an hour ago. It's…" Reid checked his pocket watch, restored to him by the State Police from Harmon's hideout. "Ten after four in the morning. It'll be dawn soon."

"When can I get out of here?"

"Not so fast," he said. "They want to keep you for a little while longer."

"Spencer, I just want to go home," she said, her chin quivering a little.

"We will, once we're sure you're okay. You said you were okay back in the forest and you weren't, remember? I'm not taking any chances."

She nodded. "Okay," she sighed. She turned her head toward Morgan. "Why were you going to handle him?"

Morgan glanced at him, then cleared his throat. "It's nothing."

"Morgan," she said, a sharp edge coming into her voice.

"He just hasn't slept or eaten in like two days. I wanted him to lie down while you were sleeping."

"But she's not sleeping now," Reid said tightly, hoping that the  _shut up, Morgan_  was clear enough.

She turned back toward him, reproach in her eyes. "I'm just going to lie here,  
honey. Go eat something and take a nap."

"No, I'm staying here."

"Don't make me sic Hotch on you."

"I fear no Hotch," Reid said.

"Beg pardon?" the man himself said, coming in to the room just in time to hear his name.

"Hotch, will you please order Dr. Reid to lie down and have a banana or something?" Emily said.

"No, I don't think I will," Hotch said. "I'd be in favor of it but I won't order him. I've been a husband at a bedside and I know I wouldn't have done it."

"Thank you," Reid said, surprised at this support from Hotch.

"What's going on?" Morgan asked Hotch, back to business.

"Local Bureau's going to take over Harmon's case, including the Harris murders and Elle's murder. They'll work with the Dallas PD and the DA, they don't need us anymore. As soon as JJ and Garcia have handed over all the files we're free to go as soon as Emily's doctors have cleared her to travel."

"They said they want to keep her awhile longer," Reid said.

Hotch nodded. "Garcia and Gideon are on their way over. I'd like everyone to try and get in a nap before we leave, we're all a little sleep-deprived." He put his hands on the footboard of Emily's hospital bed. "I've already spoken to Chief Strauss; you two are on two weeks' paid leave starting right now."

Reid glanced at Emily, wondering if she'd protest, but she just smiled. "Thanks," she said. "I think we could use it."

"We could drop you anywhere you want when we leave here. You could spend that time at Rossi's cabin."

Emily shook her head emphatically. "Right now I want to go home and sleep in my own bed."

Hotch nodded. "Then that's what we'll do." He looked at Morgan. "Morgan, you're not exempt from the napping orders. Head back to the station and pick up Rossi and JJ, and the three of you head to the hotel once everything's squared with the local office."

Morgan got up, nodding. "For once I won't argue." He leaned over and put his hand on Emily's shoulder. "You rest up, Prentiss," he said, smiling. "It is damn good to have you back safe."

She smiled back. "Thanks, Derek."

"As for you," he said, pointing at Reid. "You look after yourself, pretty boy."

"Get out of here," Reid said, smirking at him, but privately warmed by his teasing concern.

Morgan left with a few quick murmured words for Hotch that Reid didn't catch; he had turned back to Emily, who was fading in and out. "Sleepy," she said.

"Go back to sleep, Em."

"Promise you'll at least eat something?"

He sighed. "All right, I promise."

She smiled. "C'mere." He leaned closer and she lifted her head just enough to kiss his lips, then settled back against the pillows, her eyes closing already. Reid watched her for a moment, still reassuring himself that she was here and safe. This wouldn't go away in a day, or two days, or even the two weeks Hotch had just given them, but it would go away and he had to believe that they'd both be stronger for it.

The nurse came in. "I need to check her vitals and change her IV bag," she said, gently encouraging Reid and Hotch to give her some space. Reid got up and placed Emily's hand carefully on the bed so as not to wake her, then he and Hotch went into the hall.

Reid scrubbed his hands up and down his face. "I said I wouldn't order you," Hotch said, "but I have other means of encouragement."

"Yeah," Reid breathed. "I guess I could…" He paused, the sound of tapping heels faint and approaching. "Here's Garcia."

Hotch frowned. "How do you know?"

"I'd know that stride anywhere."

Garcia, Gideon and JJ rounded the corner and headed right for them. Garcia held out her arms and swept Reid up into a crushing hug before he could utter a word. "Oh, my boy wonder," she said into his shoulder, before pulling back, still hanging onto his upper arms. "How is she, is everything okay?"

"She's okay, she's sleeping. The nurse is checking her vitals right now," Reid said.

Hotch was frowning at JJ. "I thought you were staying at the station."

"I handed everything off to the DPD spokesman, so I was able to come along," she said, moving forward to hug Reid herself. "Are you all right?" she asked him, quietly.

He nodded. "Now I am."

Gideon came forward to shake his hand. "I'm more relieved than I can say," he murmured.

"Thanks for all your help," Reid said, feeling a bit awkward with him.

"You brought your laptop?" Reid asked, nodding at Garcia's bag.

"Sure did. Do you want to see what happened to Harmon and Emily before you guys got there?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Let's see it."

They sat around a coffee table in the waiting area and Garcia brought out the laptop, then queued up the footage. Reid watched, a knot in his stomach even though he knew the outcome, as Harmon gave Emily the gun and unlocked her shackle. Emily pointed the gun at him, but it wasn't loaded. Harmon hit her, then she whipped her shackle chain at him, cuffed him to the wall and then – Harmon lied to her again. "The last thing he said was your name," Harmon said to her. That was when Emily lost it, and started beating him.

Reid reached out and paused the playback. "That's weird. He could have maybe saved himself by telling her that I wasn't dead, but instead he goaded her into beating him."

"If he realized she wouldn't kill herself, maybe he wanted her to kill him," Hotch said. "And later she would know that you were alive, and that she'd murdered him. That was his way of trying to bring her down. A last ditch attempt."

"It might have worked if we'd been any later," Reid said, restarting the playback. He saw himself and the rest of the team enter the room.

Garcia clutched his hand as on the screen he and Emily embraced. "Oh, sweetie. I get so emotional seeing this. I can't imagine how that felt to her. You never know how bad something's going to feel until it happens, and then to have it undone – it must have been like waking up from your worst nightmare."

Reid nodded. "But you still remember the nightmare, don't you?"

The nurse emerged from Emily's room, shutting the door behind her. "Dr. Reid?"

"Yes?" he said.

"Your wife's vitals look good. The doctor had me give her a muscle relaxer; she was complaining of some stiffness and tightness, which isn't surprising. She's resting now but you can go back in if you like."

"I'd love to, but I promised her I'd eat something, so I better make good on it."

"That's a good idea," the nurse said, patting his arm as she headed back to her station.

"We'll sit with her," Garcia said, glancing at JJ, who nodded.

"Come on," Gideon said. "Let's go to the cafeteria and scare up something sugary for you, Spencer."

"If Emily wakes up, tell her we're handling him," Hotch said to JJ, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

JJ grinned back. "Will do."

Reid found himself being not-so-gently urged away from Emily's room with Gideon on one side of him and Hotch on the other. He followed along, not that he had much choice. Hotch and Gideon felt suspiciously like bodyguards as they flanked him down the hall and into the elevator.

Thankfully, this hospital had a round-the-clock cafeteria. Reid let himself be steered through the line, ignoring Hotch's disapproving look as he plucked a piece of pie off the bar. "It's been a long two days. I deserve pie," he muttered.

"At least eat this," Hotch said, putting an orange on his tray.

"Don't they have any bigger mugs?" Reid said, eyeing the coffee cups.

"How big do you want them?"

"If I could just jump in and drink my way out that'd be good."

They got a table by the window. Reid didn't think he'd have much of an appetite, but all at once he found himself devouring the pie. Gideon wordlessly got up and returned with another piece, which Reid ate without pausing.

The pie consumed, Reid picked up his coffee cup, casting a baleful eye at the empty plates. "I guess I was hungry," he said.

"You think so?" Hotch said, smiling a little. "You're coming down from a very high stress time, Reid. You ought to get some protein."

"You sound like my mother-in-law."

Hotch frowned. "She never seemed like the food pushing type."

"I'm too skinny for her tastes. She'd prefer her daughter's husband to be strapping and musclebound."

"After this, she may see the advantage of having her daughter's husband be smart."

Reid turned his coffee cup around in idle circles. "I don't know what to do next," he said, quietly.

"You go on," Gideon said, just as quietly. "You take her home. You take your two weeks' rest. You spend it talking, and sleeping, and taking long walks together where you don't say a word. You let her have her time alone when she needs it, and she will need it. You listen when she needs to talk but you're also honest about what you're feeling yourself. You've both been through something. You can help each other."

Reid was silent for a few moments. "When are you off, then?" he said, not looking at Gideon.

Gideon folded his hands on the table. "Now. Soon. When you finish your coffee."

Hotch looked at him with what would have appeared to a casual observer to be a neutral expression, but Reid could see the surprise and irritation there. "That soon?"

Gideon spread his hands, then folded them again. "You don't need my help anymore. You all have things to finish up. I'd just be in the way."

"It's okay, Hotch," Reid said. "He got what he came for."

Now it was Gideon's turn to frown. "I did?"

"You wanted to help, that much is true. But you also wanted to see how I'd done without you around." Gideon said nothing. "Tell me I'm wrong."

"You're not," Gideon said. "But it's more than that." He fixed Reid with that same old look, that analytic gaze that used to frustrate him so much when he saw it over the chessboard. "You remember what I said in the letter I left you?"

Reid pointed at his own temple. "Eidetic memory."

"Then tell me what I mean."

Reid sighed. "You said you'd lost your faith in happy endings. You were hoping to find it again."

Gideon smiled. "I'm glad it was you who let me rediscover that faith, Spencer."

* * *

Emily jerked awake with a vague sense of horror behind her eyes. The unease tore away like gauze as she realized where she was.  _Jesus, again?_  she thought.  _Can I wake up like a normal person, please?_

Garcia was leaning over her, a brightly colored angel of sunshine. "It's okay, Emily," she said.

"Garcia," Emily sighed.

Penelope grinned broadly and gathered her up in a big hug that Emily returned as best she could. Her limbs felt sleepy and heavy, and her head was fuzzy.  _Muscle relaxer. Cool._  "Ooh, I've been waiting to do this for hours," Garcia said, squeezing her tight against her generous bosom. She gently let Emily back down to her pillows. "If you're looking for your hunka hunka burnin' genius, he's down in the cafeteria with Hotch and Gideon."

"Oh. Good." She looked over at JJ, who was holding her hand. "It's nice just to see you guys."

Garcia had hold of her other hand, patting it and blinking back her tears. "I'm so happy you're safe," she said, lips trembling. "And to see you in person."

Emily sat up a little, JJ rising to help her and adjust her pillows. "Yeah, about that – can you guys explain to me about these cameras? You could  _see_ me?"

Garcia nodded. "Pretty soon after you were taken, I was able to get into Harmon's server. I just couldn't trace the signal to find out where you were. But we could see what he was seeing, the surveillance camera in your cell."

"So, all of you were watching me. The whole time." The concept was troubling in many ways and Emily was having trouble sorting them out. It made her irrationally angry that they had been able to see her, but not find her. And it made her just as irrationally ashamed that they'd seen her weeping and playing the role Harmon wanted her to play. And –  _oh, God._  "Were you watching when – when he told me he'd killed Spencer?"

JJ took a deep breath. "Yes. We all were."

Emily let her head fall back to the bed. "Oh, my God."

"It was horrible." JJ looked a little haunted by the memory.

"I can't imagine what that was like for you," Garcia said.

"I can't talk about that," Emily said. She could hardly stand to think about it. The fact that she could hardly stand to think about it was yet another thing she could hardly stand to think about. She didn't like what was going on inside her head. It was surprising, and not in a good way.

"Of course."

Emily looked at her friends with as much forthrightness as she could muster. "Tell me everything."

They did. Emily sat and heard about Spencer recusing himself from the investigation, but getting pulled back in when the video feeds had been discovered. She saw the tears in both her friends' eyes as they talked about watching her cry over his murder. She heard about Nathan Harris and how Harmon had manipulated him, and she kept her cool while hearing all of it.

Until Garcia told her that when she'd been saying the numbers while Harmon beat her, Spencer had said them back, there in the conference room. She shut her eyes and put her hands to her face. "I don't know what made me say those numbers right then," she said. "I just needed something, anything, that would keep him with me. I heard myself saying them, like he could hear me."

"He did hear you," Garcia said, her hands on Emily's leg, petting her like you'd soothe a frightened puppy.

Emily looked at each of them in turn. "I hope you neither of you ever have to go through that," she said. "Thinking the person you love most in the world is gone and there's nothing you can do, nowhere to turn, nothing to say or bargain that'll undo it."

"Oh, sweetie," Garcia said, getting up to sit on the edge of the bed and envelop her in a perfumed embrace. Emily cried, helpless to stop it. Had she ever cried in her life as much as she had these past few days? Had there ever been better reasons to cry?

Then why was she getting so mad at herself for it?

"What's going on?" she heard Spencer say as he entered the room, a note of alarm in his voice.

She pulled away from Garcia and reached for him as he sat on the bed on her other side, holding him as tightly as she could and feeling his arms go around her at once. "I can't believe you had to watch everything," she said.

"Shhh," he murmured. "We got off easy, you're the one who had to go through it." She saw him look up at Garcia. "What did you guys do to her?" he said, sounding a little annoyed.

"No, it's not their fault," she said, pulling back. "I wanted to know what happened while Harmon had me, they were telling me."

"There'll be plenty of time for that later," he said, putting a little emphasis on the last word with another glance at Garcia. "Right now you just need to rest and not get agitated."

"I'm okay. It's just…for a minute it brought everything back."

"We should go," JJ said, getting up. Garcia looked contrite and miserable.

"Thanks for sitting with me," Emily said, smiling so they'd know she wasn't irritated even if Spencer was.

"We'll see you later," Garcia said, bending to kiss her forehead. They left.

Spencer hitched up his knee on the bed and smoothed her hair back, leaning over her protectively. "You shouldn't think about all that right now."

"I can't help it. And if not now, when?"

"When you're not recovering from dehydration and a severe beating."

She kept a hold of his forearm. "Spencer…when Harmon acted like he would rape me…"

"No," he said, cutting her off. "We're not going to talk about that right now."

"I have to. I have to know. I was alone with him, I thought you were gone forever, I had to depend on myself. I know what I was thinking and feeling. I need to know how it was for you."

He lifted his head and met her eyes, and his were suddenly very keen. "I need to know something, too."

She swallowed. "Did I know it was a test?" He nodded, looking afraid of the answer. "I was pretty sure it was. I was about ninety percent that he wouldn't actually do it."

She couldn't tell if this answer was what he wanted to hear or not. He looked down at their clasped fingers, shaking his head. "If I'd let that happen to you…"

"No. Stop that. No one is responsible for what Harmon did to me except Harmon. And it seems like we've had this conversation before."

"This is nothing like Cyrus beating you."

"You're right. If he'd really done it…God, Spencer. It would have been bad. But it would have been worse if I knew you'd seen it."

"I wouldn't have." He looked up at her again. "That was the first moment when I felt like I couldn't handle it. I lost it a little bit. The others can tell you. When it looked like he was getting ready to do that to you, I…" He sighed. "I can't really remember what I said or did but I remember Rossi and Morgan holding me back, I remember grabbing Hotch, and I remember that I was out of my head. As long as I could see you, I couldn't bear to leave you alone. I couldn't  _not_  watch you. That's all I did was watch you. The others worked on the profile, on the hunt for Harmon's hideout. Me, I watched you. I hadn't left you alone before, I sure couldn't leave you alone if this horrible thing was going to happen to you."

"You said you wouldn't have seen it, though."

"Hotch told me I couldn't. Gideon said that you would need me not to have seen it."

She nodded. "He was right."

"Turning away from that monitor was one of the hardest things I ever did. Morgan had to help me. He and Rossi were practically holding me upright, but all I could think was that no matter how bad it was for me, it was a hundred, a thousand times worse for you, because you were alone, and you thought that even if you got away, you'd be alone again, with a dead husband." He was looking at her with an intensity that left her speechless. He slid his hands up her neck to cup her head in his hands. "I've had guns pointed at me and bombs blown up around me and killers threaten me, but I've never been as scared as when I thought that man would kill you."

She touched his face. "I know what you mean." They pulled each other close and kissed a few times, then Emily buried herself in his embrace and stayed there with her head pressed to his chest, hearing and feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat, until she drifted off to sleep again.


	37. Chapter 37

_Dallas, Texas  
Monday, 12:30 pm_

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* * *

_  
_

 

Reid packed up his and Emily's things at the hotel, moving as fast as he could. The jet was waiting, they'd be in the air by two. The doctors had said Emily could leave the hospital, she was rehydrated and stable. She was sleepy, and her legs were worrying him a bit; they were still tingling and partially numb, but he was assured that it would pass. JJ was with her at the hospital helping her get ready to leave.

Someone knocked. He went to the door, concealing his irritation at the interruption. Hot was standing there, looking – Hotchlike. "What's up?"

"Detective Bullock is downstairs in the lobby, he wanted to say goodbye." Hotch paused. "Nathan Harris is with him."

Reid blinked. "Oh."

"If you don't want to see him, I can tell him it's not a good time."

"No, it's okay. I'll talk to him on the way out." Hotch seemed like he had more to say. "Hotch, what is it?"

"Harmon's pled guilty. To everything. Elle's murder, the seven stabbings, of course the kidnapping and assault on Emily."

"I'm not surprised. He knows he's caught. We have him on video, for crying out loud. Plus Nathan's testimony. He'd want to make sure he got his full measure of notoriety now that he knows he's caught."

I thought you might want to –  _question_  him." The way Hotch said that made Reid think that he might have his own questions for Harmon, the kind you ask with your fists.

Reid sighed. "No. I'm not giving that man one more second of my time. He's a nobody who killed people to make himself feel significant. He did all this to get to me and he used Emily to do it. He's nothing, he's no one, and I'm not letting him affect us for one more second. And if you want him to fill out the VICAP questionnaire, fine, but just don't send me to interview him."

Hotch nodded. "You're showing more restraint than I think I'd be able to."

"If I talked to him, I'd only be indulging my own base desires to confront him, and that's not going to help anybody. It's what he wants, it's all he's got left. He's not getting it from me. I refuse to set myself up as some kind of nemesis for him in the inevitable book he writes or the TV interviews he gives." He folded up one of Emily's shirts. It smelled of her perfume. "Emily is safe. We've caught Elle's killer. My job as an FBI agent is done here, and now I need to focus on my job as a husband."

"Agreed. I'll, uh…be downstairs when you're ready to go."

"Thanks. Oh, Hotch?" Hotch paused and turned back. "Can I ask you something personal?"

"Go ahead."

Reid took a breath. "Why did you and Haley wait so long to have Jack?"

He saw a shadow pass across Hotch's face before he answered. "There always seemed to be something we had to do first," he said. "At first she wasn't sure, then I wasn't sure, then it was one of our jobs – that all sounds so unimportant now."

Reid nodded, his thoughts whirling. "Okay."

Hotch started to leave again, then paused. "Reid?"

"What?"

Hotch met his eyes, and Reid could see that he knew just what was going on in Reid's head. "Don't say anything to her until you're sure."

* * *

When Reid got downstairs, Hotch wordlessly took his and Emily's suitcase from him and went out to the car, leaving him alone with Bullock and Nathan. Nathan looked shy and unsure that he had a right to be there, so Reid addressed him first. "Thanks for coming by."

Nathan shrugged. "I wanted to say bye. I'm real glad Agent Prentiss is okay."

"You helped us, you know. And you tried to protect her. I won't forget that." Nathan nodded, looking at his shoes. "Are you going to stay at McKinniss?"

"I don't know. I don't want to. I think I wanna go home."

"Back to DC?"

"Yeah, maybe. If I can find a job."

Reid took a step closer. "You know you can talk to me if you need to, right?"

Nathan met his eyes briefly. "I don't wanna bother you."

"It's no bother. Here," he said, taking out his wallet and fishing out one of his business cards. "You can reach me here," he said, writing on the back. "This is my private cell number."

Nathan took the card. "Thanks," he said, sounding a little awestruck that Reid had entrusted him with his private contact information. "Maybe if I meet someone new, I should have you run a background check," he said, with a hint of a smirk.

Reid laughed. "Not a bad idea. Meeting someone new sounds like a good idea, too."

Nathan met his eyes directly for the first time. "Are you happy?"

Reid held his gaze. "Yes."

"Good." His eyes dropped again and he shuffled a bit, slipping the card into his pocket. "I'll, uh…see you. Have a safe trip."

Reid held out his hand. Nathan hesitated, then shook it. "Take care of yourself, Nathan." The young man nodded.

"You too, Dr. Reid." He met Reid's eyes for one more quick glance, and Reid saw there Nathan's regret and his displaced feelings for him. There was nothing he could do or say that would make  _that_  go away, so he just watched Nathan leave, feeling vaguely guilty.

Bullock stepped up. "Well, Stretch, you leaving us with a whole boatload a crap to look after," he said, but his eyes were twinkling.

Reid nodded. "That's the BAU way, Detective. We come in, catch your bad guys, and let you take the credit and do the paperwork."

Bullock chuckled. "Well, I always been kinda skeptical a this profilin stuff, but y'all mighta convinced me."

"It's just an investigative tool, but it's a useful one."

"I just wanted ta stop on by and say thanks. That team a yours is pretty impressive."

"Yes, they are."

Bullock arched one bushy eyebrow. "You don't do so bad yourself, Stretch. For an intern," he said, winking.

Reid smiled. "Maybe one of these days they'll make me full-time."

The detective's face went serious. "I'm real glad Agent Prentiss is okay. You tell her goodbye for me, y'hear?"

"I will."

"And, uh…you tell Miss Garcia that I will take her out for the best barbecue she ever ate any time she wants," he said, grinning.

Reid couldn't help but chuckle. "I'll tell her."

Bullock stuck out his meaty hand and shook Reid's, his grip nearly crushing. "You and your lady take good care a each other, you hear? This a dangerous line a work to be in when someone you love's in it with you." He patted Reid's shoulder, tipped his hat and headed out, his boots clocking loudly on the hardwood floor of the lobby.

Reid picked up his messenger bag and headed out after him. Hotch was waiting in the SUV parked by the curb. Reid climbed in. "Let's get out of here," he said. Hotch didn't reply, just drove off toward the airstrip.

* * *

Bullock went into the interrogation room where Kurt Harmon waited, swallowing past his loathing of the man. There he sat, looking calm and even a little smug while his face was lit up like a late sunset with bruises and lacerations. He set down the typed confession Kurt had dictated that morning. "Read it and sign," Bullock said.

Harmon drew the paper towards him, but he wasn't reading it. "When can I expect Dr. Reid?" he said, his tone sounding casual while Bullock knew it wasn't.

"Whaddya mean?"

"Isn't he going to come in and grill me? Ask me why I did what I did? Vent his anger at me?" Harmon looked damn near gleeful at the prospect.

Bullock leaned back in his chair. "Well gosh, Kurt, I don't reckon so. He's on his way back to DC with the rest of them agents." It was almost worth having to be in the same room with the man to see the smugness drain off his face.

"He's what?'

"He went home, Kurt. Probly plannin' ta take some time off with the lovely Agent Prentiss, maybe go someplace to be alone so they can talk about anything in the world but you."

Harmon shook his head, chuckling. "You're lying. There's no way the BAU would leave without interviewing me."

"I guess they had better things to do today."

Harmon searched his eyes. "They really left?" he said, flatly.

"Saw 'em off my own self. So here's what gonna happen now. You're gonna sign that confession. You won't go to death row since you pled guilty. You'll go to supermax, and most of the inmates will think you're a badass cause you're a serial killer and you kidnapped an FBI agent. That kinda shit buys a lotta cred in the joint, even if she did kick yer ass. You'll have a pretty good time of it. Yer rep will probly protect you from the usual indignities prisoners put on each other. You'll get women writin' you letters wantin' ta save you and reporters wantin' yer story and maybe even the BAU will want ya to fill out one a their questionnaire thingies. But then you'll be old news, and people will forget. Someone more interesting, more horrible will come along and you won't be news no more. But you'll still be in prison, see. Fer the rest a yer natural life. Years'll pass and them handsome looks you got goin' on be gone. Maybe you'll find religion, that's always a good one, but it won't matter. Maybe you'll start sayin' yer innocent, get some more press, but that shit won't fly any further'n a dog in a bog. Now, I know you went to a lotta trouble to set all this up cause you thought you was Moriarty and Dr. Reid was Sherlock Holmes. Bet you thought he'd come in here and you'd have some dramatic interrogation-room faceoff. You probly imagined how you'd be all cool and collected while he lost his shit and shouted at you. Hell, I bet you been workin on yer Hannibal Lecter impersonation, jus' getting ready for it. Thought you'd lord it over him how you had his pretty wife for two whole days, and she'll never be the same and all that crap. Well, I'm real sorry, Kurt, but it ain't gonna happen. Dr. Reid's on a plane back to DC, and neither he nor his pretty wife are gonna spare one little thought for you. He ain't got no questions for you, but you know, I got one."

"What?" Harmon said, staring down at his confession, his face blank.

"How's it feel? After all you went through to ruin that man's life, to take from him what he holds most dear and punish him for bein' who he is and good at it – how's it feel to know that to him, you don't matter one little bit?"

Harmon looked up at him. He didn't answer.

Bullock nodded. "Yeah, that's what I thought." Harmon looked lost and confused for the first time since he'd met the man. Bullock got up and left, smiling. "Well, damn. Just no part a that that weren't fun."

* * *

The ride home on the jet was very, very quiet. Everyone was still pretty tired, and within fifteen minutes Garcia, Morgan and Rossi were all asleep. JJ sat across the table from Hotch, who was just looking out the window. She'd never seen Hotch show fatigue and he wasn't showing any now.

JJ was tired, too, but she couldn't sleep. She had twirly-brain, as Will called it. She couldn't stop thinking. About what they'd just gone through, how she would have reacted if it had been her in Emily's place, or Reid's.

She looked over at them. Reid was sitting at one end of the couch. Emily was asleep, curled on her side with her head on a pillow in his lap. His hand had started out resting on her side, but in her sleep she had seized it and was holding it against her stomach, like she needed to hang on lest she fall off some inner cliff in her dreams. His other hand rested lightly on her hair; his head was tipped back and his eyes were closed, but she could tell he wasn't asleep.

JJ suddenly flashed on the first time Spence had held Henry, when she'd asked him to be her son's godfather. He'd been uncertain at first, but he'd quickly gotten the hang of holding the baby. She'd seen the emotion in his eyes, something quick and hidden flashing across, smiling down at the hours-old baby. She'd seen so clearly that her sometimes-awkward friend had deep wellsprings of love in his soul that he'd never been allowed the chance to share. He'd been surrounded his entire life by people who needed his attention, his help, his caretaking, and his intellect, but never just his affection. Emily, on the other hand, needed nothing but, and it had eased something in his heart to be needed for nothing more than the companionship and love he could provide.

She got up and went to the cupboard to pull out a blanket. She spread it over Emily's still form, tucking it up around her shoulders. Reid opened his eyes and looked at her. "Thanks," he whispered.

She was struck by a sudden urge to kiss his cheek or hug him. Something, anything so he'd know how glad she was this was all over now. There was always a vague, tiny nugget of might-have-been in her friendship with Reid. What if something had come of their long-ago pseudo-date? What if she'd never met Will, what if she'd gone along on that custodial interview to Minnesota intead of Emily? She was happy with her own family, but she'd seen how he was in a relationship, how he and Emily were together, and it made her wonder if it would have been like that for them.

Emily stirred a little, a small distressed noise in the back of her throat. JJ could only imagine the kind of dreams she was having after her ordeal. Reid looked down at her, making quiet soothing noises, his hand stroking her hair. JJ gently patted Emily's shoulder and went back to her seat. She was impatient now. Impatient for the plane to land so she could go home an hug her son, and tell her husband how much she loved him – and how grateful she was that they didn't work together.

* * *

_Alexandria, Virginia  
Monday, 6:30 pm_

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* * *

_  
_

 

Home felt like the arms of heaven to Emily. Driving up to the familiar sight of its peaked gables and iron archways made her feel that much closer to her normal life and further away from that cinderblock room. "Home again, home again, here again," she murmured as Reid held the back door open for her to precede him into the kitchen.

He glanced at her, bemused. "What was that?"

"Oh, just something my dad always used to say when we'd come home after being away." She wandered through the first floor while Spencer brought in their bags; she took careful steps on her sore legs, smiling at the sight of the hardwood floors and the woven rugs and the tile in the foyer, smelling her home's distinctive scents of old books, wood polish and fireplace fires. She eased herself down into her favorite armchair in the living room, sighing as it reached up and seemed to welcome her home with cushy, leather-upholstered arms. But even with the comfort that home brought her, it was just a building. Her real home was the man she shared it with. Watching him walk into the living room, still relieved at each sight of him blessedly alive, she thought she'd live happily with him in a tent in a vacant lot.

She let him help her climb the stairs. He left her alone to put on her pajamas and reappeared ten minutes later with soup and a mug of her favorite cocoa. She sat up in bed, looking down at the plate and cup. "You don't have to wait on me," she said.

He reached over and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, his hand lingering on her cheek. "You could let me, though."

She nodded. "Well…okay."

_He just wants to take care of you. It's normal. Remember after he got shot, how you wanted to make him sit in one spot while you did everything and he finally snuck out of the house when you weren't looking? And that was just his arm._

_I don't need to be taken care of. I'm just fine._

_I would have been FINE._

_Even if it had been true. Even if I were in this house alone right now wondering which funeral home to call. I would have been just fine._

"I'm going to take a shower," he said.

"Okay," she said, a little too quickly.  _Yes. I can be alone in the room for a few minutes without losing my shit entirely. Go away so I can make sure that's true. But come back soon. But not too soon. Because I don't need you, you know. Not really. Except that I desperately need you, every minute of every day. But if you died I would be fine, fine and dandy, I'd go on with my life and I'd be FINE._

Emily shook her head.  _I'm losing my mind._

_Just relax and don't think about it. You're home. Enjoy it. What happened in that building is behind you. Your future is what you thought it was going to be. Here, with him._

She ate her soup and drank her cocoa while he showered and put on his own pajamas. It was only seven o'clock at night, barely dark, but it was understood between them that bed was the place to be right now, and not for sex. Part of her badly wanted to make love to him, to feel his hands on her and his skin beneath her lips and reforge that connection to him after her mind had already started to believe it severed, but she just didn't feel up for it right now. She could tell by the way he was moving around and looking at her that he wasn't going to make any moves in that direction, either. He took away her dishes and came back with her copy of "Sense and Sensibility," one of her favorites and the book she read when she needed comfort. He slid between the sheets and opened the book, extending one arm to wrap around her as she tucked her head down on his chest while he read aloud. She let her mind drift into the familiar words, made new again by his quiet baritone voice as he spoke them, until sleep took her down, into a dreamworld that she knew wouldn't contain any nightmares tonight.


	38. Chapter 38

"Emily?"

She didn't move. She was burrowed so far into the covers that all he could see were a few locks of hair.

"You in there?" he said, leaning closer and giving a quick shake to a lump of covers that might have been her shoulder. She made a grumpy-sounding noise. He smiled. "It's almost noon."

"Hmph?" she said. The vaguely woman-shaped pile of bedclothes shifted and her face emerged. "Noon?"

He sat down on the edge of the bed. "Yeah. I would have let you sleep more but – well, there's stuff going on."

She sat up, blinking and looking confused. "You wanted to let me sleep  _more_  than seventeen hours?"

"You needed the rest."

She rubbed at her eyes with two fists, looking like a little girl. It made him want to tickle her and muss her hair up even more. "What stuff's going on?"

"I've got a massage therapist coming to the house to work on you, I thought it would help your legs and back."

"Oh, that sounds great," she groaned, shifting in the bed. "I still feel half tied in knots. When?"

"About an hour. I thought you'd want to shower first."

"Bath, I think. I want to steep for awhile."

He nodded. "I'll start the water."

She put out a hand and stopped him. "I'll do it, Spencer."

"It's no problem."

"I know it isn't. It's a problem for me for you to wait on me."

"If there's a time to let me wait on you, I think it's now."

"I'm not an invalid, I'm not injured, just – sore." She looked up at him, more waking awareness in her eyes. "I know what you're trying to do, but the best thing you can do for me right now is let me handle myself as much as I can, okay?"

He knew she was right, but he couldn't help wanting to do everything for her. "Can I at least get you lunch?"

She smiled and sat up. "Now that, I'll let you do."

Reid bustled about the house while Emily was in her bath, making busywork for himself. He dusted the living room, cleaned the already-sparkling kitchen countertops and went through the fridge, tossing anything even one day past its expiration. He was wondering what this massage therapist would be like. JJ had recommended him, so he trusted that, but he couldn't help but wonder about a man who'd very soon be laying some fairly intimate touch on his wife.

She was out of the bath and bundled into her fuzziest robe when the doorbell rang. He opened it to find a baby-faced, strapping young man standing there with a folding massage table. "Dr. Reid?" he said, smiling and looking completely harmless.

"Yes," Reid said, shaking his extended hand.

"I'm Stephen."

"Come in." He led the young man into the den, the warmest room in the house and one of the only ones with a door, so it could be closed off for privacy.

Emily stood up. "Hi, I'm Emily," she said, shaking Stephen's hand.

"Nice to meet you, Emily. Your husband told me you've been injured recently?"

"In a way."

"I work on a lot of law enforcement officers coming off on-the-job physical issues," he said. "I'm sure I can help you feel better."

"I hope so," she said, visibly relaxing at Stephen's confident, nonthreatening manner.

"I'll be in the living room," Reid said, meeting Emily's eyes. She nodded, watching as Stephen set up his table. Reid left, shutting the door behind him.

He went back to his busywork. The baseboards were dusty, and there was still laundry from the trip to do, after all.

When the doorbell rang again half an hour later, he was momentarily caught off guard.  _Who the heck could that be?_  He put down the Murphy's Oil Soap and went to answer it, figuring it was Morgan or Garcia or JJ, come by to check in on them.

But when he opened the door, it wasn't one of his friends he found standing there. It was his mother-in-law.

"Spencer," she said, keeping her achingly correct posture while her face looked haggard. "I know we talked about me coming tomorrow, but I couldn't wait. I had to see my daughter." Incredibly, her chin was quavering a little bit.

Reid's heart suddenly went out to her. At least he'd been able to be active in helping Emily, he'd been able to see her and know what was going on. Elizabeth had been powerless, remote, and out of the loop. He couldn't imagine being in that position. "Of course," he said, then surprised himself by reaching out to hug her. The surprises kept coming as she hugged him back, hard.

"I'm sorry to just show up like this," she said.

"Don't worry about it. Come in." He pulled her into the house. "I had a massage therapist come in to work on her, she's in with him now, but they'll be done in half an hour or so. Come on, I'll get you some coffee."

Elizabeth nodded, sniffing a little and following him into the kitchen. "A massage therapist?" she asked, sitting on a stool at the kitchen island.

"I thought it would help with her stiffness." He set a cup of coffee in front of her, knowing that she took it black.

She looked up at him with a thoughtful expression. "You really take care of her, don't you?"

"On the rare occasions that she lets me," he said, smiling.

She cast her eyes down at her coffee cup, fiddling with it. "I've been unfair to you, Spencer."

"You've been fine."

"No. I've been polite but I've judged you in my heart. I've had uncharitable thoughts and I've wished things were different."

Reid leaned against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. "Okay," he said, wondering where she was going with this.

"I've spoken to Aaron Hotchner. He told me what you did."

He shifted, his hands going into his pockets. He could hear Emily telling him that hands-in-pockets was one of his tells. "What I did?"

"You saved her. You figured out where she was."

"I figured out where she was, but Emily saved herself, Elizabeth. She overpowered Harmon and secured him. If we hadn't gotten there, she would have been able to take his keys and drive herself to safety."

"I know all that. I also know – what kind of condition she was in at the time you found her. I know what she'd been made to believe." Elizabeth's eyes bore more sympathy than he'd ever seen there. "I told you just a few days ago that if anything happened to you, it would kill her. I don't think you believed me. Do you believe me now?" He didn't answer. He didn't have an answer. "Emily's just come face to face with how she'd feel if you died. That's going to stay with her for a long time. I don't think she realized how that would affect her. I don't have to tell you how she values her independence and her ability to handle her emotions."

"No, you don't."

"She's just learned that there are feelings that can't be controlled, not even by her."

He sighed. "You're saying these things like you think they're news to me, Elizabeth. I'm ready for it."

"For what?"

"For her to push me away to prove to herself that she can."

Elizabeth nodded, giving him an empathetic smile. "It'll only be temporary."

"I know."

She was quiet for a moment, her eyes back on her coffee. "It's not easy to realize that you're not the most important person to your child anymore. That someone knows her better than I do, because they know sides of her that I don't see, and shouldn't." She took a deep breath and smiled brightly. "But I didn't come here to tell you things you already know about Emily," she said, her tone decisive as she set down her coffee cup. "Aaron told me that he gave you two weeks off. I want to offer you the summer house up in the Poconos. It's beautiful, it's peaceful. Just what the two of you need."

"We talked about going away someplace secluded, but…I don't think your summer house is what she had in mind."

Elizabeth smirked. "You mean, she won't want to take anything I offer."

"I was trying to be diplomatic."

"I'm sure you can talk her into it."

"What makes you think I want to accept?"

"You do. You're practical at heart, Spencer, and this won't cost you a cent, not to mention it'll be much nicer than wherever you were thinking of going. And you understand why I'm offering."

He nodded. "Yes, I do."

"Then we're agreed."

He shook his head, chuckling. "Emily's going to think we're ganging up on her."

"We are."

* * *

Emily had thought she was making a strike for her and Spencer's independence when she'd refused to let her mother charter a plane to fly them to the summer house, only to turn around and discover that JJ was going to fly them there on the BAU jet. "But…JJ…what if you guys need the jet?"

"Then we'll take it and you can fly commercial."

The logic of this answer momentarily cut off Emily's objections. "But…I…it's a misappropriation of government resources!" she spluttered.

"Oh, no. You are not playing Good Girl Emily with me, are you? Or was it not you who not-so-subtly suggested that we bring this same jet out to Las Vegas for your wedding?"

She had her there. And no case came up to make the jet unavailable, so the next morning she and Spencer boarded the jet, Emily nervously looking around as if a Bureau comptroller was going to pop out and say "J'accuse!" Captain Armagnac, one of their usual pilots, was grinning ear to ear. "Hey, Agent Prentiss!" he said, poking his head out of the cockpit. "Dr. Reid! Off on a little vacation?"

"It's job-related recuperation time," Emily said, feeling odd about Captain Armagnac thinking they were using the jet to faff off on holiday.

"Sounds good either way!" he said, jovially touching the brim of his cap before ducking back into the cockpit.

When they landed in Albany there was a car waiting for them.

"Oh, Mother," Emily sighed, shaking her head as their luggage was transferred by the driver. "This so isn't my style." They got into the back of the car and the driver headed for the cabin. "I can't believe I agreed to this," she finally said.

"I think it's a good idea," Spencer said.

"What's going on with you? You hate it when my mother tries to do stuff like this! Suddenly you're all buddy-buddy with her and I don't mind saying, it's kinda freaking me out!"

He met her eyes. "We needed to get away. In DC there'd always be something distracting us, within three days we'd both be having Garcia sneak us files out of the office. I got to carry you out of that building in the forest and hold your hand in the ambulance. Your mom needs to do something for you. This is what she does, this is what she knows how to do. So why not let her?"

Emily blinked, feeling shabby all of a sudden. "Damn," she said. "When did you get so smart about my mother?"

"She and I have had our differences, but when it comes to you, I think we're starting to understand each other."

She sighed. "I guess it doesn't do any good to keep fighting it now. We might as well relax and enjoy this place." She slid across the seat and leaned up against his side, twining her fingers with his. "It is beautiful up here. And we could use the time alone."

He nodded, then kissed her forehead. "No argument there."

She watched Reid's face as they pulled up the drive, trying see the place through his eyes. What her mother amusingly called the "summer house" was a five thousand square foot log home with five bedrooms, a wraparound porch, a three hundred sixty degree view of the Poconos, a hot tub and a private tennis court. Hiking trails passed through the property and she knew that her mother would have had the horses brought up to the stable from their boarding facility – she smiled at the image of Spencer riding a horse, although after a moment's thought the image inspired less amusement and more of something else entirely.  _We might just have to try that,_  she thought.

"Holy cow," he said. " _This_  is the summer house?"

"My mother likes for things to sound folksy."

"I was picturing some kind of rustic cabin. This is bigger than our house! Which we live in all four seasons!" He got out of the car and stood staring. "I feel like I should be wearing something flannel."

She chuckled. "Come on, I'll show you around."

* * *

Emily wasn't surprised to find that her mother had made sure the cabin's kitchen was fully stocked, there was plenty of firewood outside, and the hot tub was full and hot. She had no doubt the linens were freshly changed.

She unpacked their clothes in the master bedroom, thinking about the next ten days and what she hoped would happen. There were things she had to work out in her own head, questions that only she could answer for herself. Her experience with Harmon had shown her some things about herself that had been unpleasant surprises. She didn't know what it meant, but she knew she had to work it out.

She just hoped he could understand that she had to have some time alone to do that.

Apart from that, she just wanted to have as much totally unstructured time with her husband as possible. She wanted to lie around reading, she wanted to go for walks and sit by the firepit and eat nothing but chocolate graham crackers and Nutella for lunch. She wanted some fresh air and long hours with no conversation at all. She wanted to listen to him read out loud to her and she wanted to get tipsy in the hot tub and laugh about it with him.

She wanted sex. They hadn't had any since her return. That first night she'd been so tired and sore, and last night he'd touched her with the beginnings of intent, but she hadn't been in that place. She couldn't.

She wasn't sure she could now, either. She wanted to. She was feeling much better; her massage and the rest had her legs feeling nearly normal. The tingling and numbness had gone, and all that remained now was a little lingering stiffness around her hips and back. Her desire for him was alive and well, too. Earlier on the jet she'd found herself staring at the strong, sharp line of his jaw as he looked out the window and contemplating his long fingers and all the ways he knew how to use them to drive her wild.

But something – something was holding her back. Part of her just wanted to curl up by herself in a big, soft bed and sleep her days away until this feeling of being out of control left her. Another part of her, a small part but big enough to frighten her, wanted to run. Far and fast, as far as she could, until she was back to that woman who hadn't needed, who hadn't been tied, who could know her own emotions and couldn't be laid low by anything. That woman who hadn't stared down the barrel of life without one person and had to face how bad it was and how weak she felt when confronted with it.

_I can't do that. I don't want to do that._

She abandoned the unpacking and hurried downstairs. "Spencer? Where are you?"

"Out here!" He was on the porch, gazing out at the view of the valley and the hills beyond, the intense fall colors laid out like a quilt before them. "Emily, this view is amazing!"

She didn't respond. She just walked right up to him and wrapped her arms around his neck in a fierce hug. He hugged her back immediately. She held on tight, afraid to let go. She didn't say anything, just squeezed and breathed in the smell of him, the woolly scent of his clothes and the sweet-spiciness of his skin. She hung on so he'd keep her here, body and mind, anchored to her life so she couldn't be yanked away from it – so she couldn't escape. She didn't want to escape. She  _didn't._

She drew back and kissed him hard, angling her jaw into his, drawing him out into her mouth, her hands pulling at him. "Take me upstairs," she murmured, reaching down to grab his ass.

He was responding eagerly to her kisses, but she sensed his hesitation. "Em…wait…" he managed to sneak in around her mouth. "Just a second."

"What?" she said, frustrated.

"We just got here, and this feels weird."

"Do I feel weird?" she purred, pulling his hand up and placing it on her breast.

"You don't have to prove anything," he said, looking straight into her eyes.

His ability to read her was, as always, a little spooky. She sighed and relaxed a little. "I don't have anything to prove," she lied.

"You don't have to want to have sex just because you think you  _should_  want it."

She shook her head. "I do want to have sex." He gave her The Eyebrow. "In theory."

"It's okay."

"I didn't want you think I didn't want you."

"I don't."

"Because I always want you."

"Emily, I get it."

She stared up into his eyes, then finally gave in. She pulled away and sat down on one of the rattan porch sofas, letting her head drop into her hands. She felt him sit next to her. "There's just some stuff going on in my head," she said. "I think I might need some time to myself."

"Okay," he said. She could tell that he was trying very hard to keep his tone neutral and not let any hurt or anxiety leak into it.

She met his eyes. "Spencer – needing time to myself isn't the same as needing time away from you."

He nodded. "I understand." And yet he still looked like a kicked puppy. Or maybe she was just transferring her guilt onto him and he looked no different than he always looked.

_I'm going to drive myself nuts._  "I'll finish unpacking."

"I'll get some dinner together."

She leaned over and kissed him. "I'm glad we're here."

He gave her a reassuring smile. "Me, too."

* * *

Emily woke in the most comfortable bed she'd ever slept in, the morning sun coming in the east-facing windows. She was warm and relaxed, her barnacle of a husband wrapped around her from behind, his breath riffling through the hair on her neck. He must have felt her wake because he stirred right away, his hands moving over her stomach. She snuggled back into his embrace and she felt him press a kiss to her shoulder.

Like the nights preceding it, there had been no sex in this bed the night before. They'd just gone to bed, both of them proclaiming tiredness, and gone right to sleep. Her sleep had been deep and dreamless, floating in a formless void without thought or feeling. Heaven, in other words.

She felt him sigh. "What do you want to do today?" he whispered.

"I think – I want to not plan to do anything."

He chuckled. "Sounds like a – I mean,  _not_  like a plan." He sat up, and Emily immediately felt cold without his warmth. She rolled over to her back. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, facing away from her. "Em…sooner or later I hope you'll talk to me," he said, the cheerfulness gone from his voice.

She watched his back, the set of his shoulders telling her of his own tiredness. "I will," she said.

He stayed there, saying nothing, for a long moment. "I'll start the coffee," he finally said, standing up. He pulled on a t-shirt and headed out to the stairs.

Emily curled on her side, hugging a pillow to her chest.  _How can you do this to him? You're not the only one who's been through hell with all of this. He had to watch and feel helpless when Harmon beat you and lied to you and threatened to rape you._

_But he always knew I was alive. He never felt what I felt. What I can't stop feeling._

_I need help to deal with this._

Emily sat up and picked up her cell phone. She stared at it for a long time before finally dialing, and when her call was answered, for a moment she couldn't speak. "I really need to talk to you," she finally said.


	39. Chapter 39

Reid thought he could get used to the rich lifestyle, much to his chagrin. He'd never envied Emily's family their money or wished he had it for himself. Her potential inheritance had never figured into his relationship with her for one second. He would have waved off any offer of financial windfalls had they been made.

But damn, this house was nice. It wasn't cold and showy, like Elizabeth's house in Baltimore. This was cozy and peaceful and welcoming. He felt at home here already, and Emily was visibly relaxing. They'd spent the morning in comfortable silence, stretched out in the solarium on the long window seat, each of them reading a book, heads at opposite ends and legs intertwined.

He'd swallowed the urge to try to talk to her several times. She looked so peaceful lying there propped up on pillows, the sunlight lining her hair with a golden glow. He wanted her to look that way all the time, relaxed and happy and content, and right now he could keep her looking like that by keeping his mouth shut.

_That's the mother of all cop-outs and avoidance tactics and you know it._

After lunch she'd gone for a walk. More like a hike, she'd said. Might be gone a few hours. Keeping in mind her request for time to herself, Reid had cheerfully bid her goodbye and made sure she had her cell phone and a bottle of water. He'd been reassured by the slow, lingering kiss she'd given him as she left.

His reassurance was short-lived.

He'd reinstalled himself in the solarium with his book and had actually fallen asleep as the afternoon wore on.

He was awoken by the doorbell. He jerked upright, disoriented. "Whathehell?" he muttered. Who could that be? It could only be Elizabeth.

_Dammit, she swore up and down she was going to leave us alone here and not drop in. I should have known she wouldn't be able to…_

His train of thought was cut off when he reached the door and opened it, and it was not Elizabeth Prentiss on the doorstep.

Reid blinked in shock. "Hotch!"

Hotch nodded. "Reid. I got here a little earlier than I thought I would."

He frowned. "You did? Why?"

"Emily didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

Hotch was looking more and more uncomfortable by the second. "She called me and said she needed to talk to me. I was in Allentown giving some testimony so I told her I'd drive up here, it's only an hour away."

Reid just stood there for a moment, in the grip of multiple unpleasant emotions. Hurt and confusion that Emily couldn't talk to him, or wouldn't. Jealousy that she apparently could talk to Hotch instead, or preferred to. And finally fear, fear that Emily wasn't really his after all, that she was turning to Hotch, and that it was her first step away from him and the life he'd thought they were building together.

He took a deep mental breath.  _Get a grip, Spencer._

Emily  _was_  his. He knew it like he knew that he was standing here and that the sky was blue. She loved him, and he trusted it. He trusted her. And if she needed to talk to Hotch instead of to him, there was a good reason. Reid knew that he couldn't be everything for her any more than she could be everything for him. And that was okay. Hotch had experiences and wisdom to offer her that Reid didn't have – like, for example, how it felt to lose a spouse. If Emily wanted to talk to someone who'd been through what she'd gone through for two days, then that person couldn't be Spencer, and the last thing he ought to do was make it somehow all about him and load a bunch of guilt onto her while she tried to process her experience.

"I see," was all he said.

"She didn't tell you," Hotch said, looking grim.

"Well, I guess I know now." Reid stood aside and motioned Hotch into the house. "She's gone out for a walk."

"Reid, I…"

He held up a hand. "If she needs to talk to you, then I appreciate you coming all this way."

"I wouldn't want to come between…"

"Hotch." Reid turned toward him. "It would take a lot more than that."

Hotch just nodded. Reid heard the back doors to the porch open and shut again. "Spencer?" Emily called.

"In here."

She came into the hall and stopped short when she saw Hotch there. "Oh. Hotch. Uh…thanks for coming." She cut her eyes to Reid. "Spencer, I'm sorry I didn't – I didn't expect him until this evening, I was going to tell you when I got back."

"It's okay," he said. He kissed her temple. "I get it. I'll let you two talk." He held her gaze for a moment, hers full of another apology, then turned and headed back toward the solarium, leaving them alone.

* * *

Emily watched Spencer's retreating back.  _Shit._  One of the reasons she'd gone on her walk was to rehearse in her head just  _how_  to tell Spencer that she'd called Hotch, and how to explain it to him so he wouldn't think it reflected some inadequacy on his part.

"Why didn't you tell him I was coming?" Hotch asked, sounding a little perturbed. She didn't blame him. She'd just put him in an awkward position.

"I was going to," she said. "You're early."

"I said I'd get here as soon as I could. Emily, what's going on?"

She tore her eyes away from the spot in the air that her husband had just vacated and turned toward Hotch. "Let's go for a walk."

She led him out to the backyard and past the pool to a garden. Banked down now for the coming winter, it was still a secluded, peaceful spot. She motioned for Hotch to sit down. She was too restless to sit herself, so she just paced. "Hotch, I have to ask you some things about Haley. I'm sorry, I know it's upsetting. Tell me if you don't want to talk about it."

Hotch nodded. "It's okay. Go ahead."

"When she died – how did you feel?"

He looked down at his hands for a moment, thinking. "Angry. Guilty. Heartbroken. Sometimes hopeless."

"Hopeless?"

"Yes. Sometimes I wondered how I'd go on without her, how I'd handle being a single father, how Jack would be affected. The world seemed smaller without her."

Emily nodded. "Did you ever…" She couldn't say it. She just let the unfinished thought hang there in the air.

"Emily, what?"

She took a deep breath and sat down next to him, staring at her restless fingers as they worried the frayed cuffs of her jacket. "I didn't know it would feel like that."

"How did it feel?"

She looked up at him. She had to tell someone. "I was playing a part for Harmon. He wanted me broken, so I gave him broken. He wanted me to give up, so I told him I wanted to die, too."

"I know."

She held his eyes. "The thing is, part of me did want to die. Part of me couldn't face it. And that scares the shit out of me."

"Why?"

"That's not me. That's not who I thought I was. A woman who couldn't go on without – you know."

"I think you're being a little harsh on yourself. You'd just gotten the worst news of your life. Do you really think it's fair to expect yourself to bounce right back up and feel fine about life immediately?"

"I shouldn't have felt like my own life wasn't worth living."

"But did you? Did you really?" He bent his head, trying to catch her eye again. "If you had, you wouldn't have fought. You wouldn't have tried to get the better of Harmon. You planned, you profiled him right there and played into his fantasies to give yourself the chance to escape. What were you going to do after you got out?"

"I wasn't thinking that far ahead. Hotch – I was going to kill him. With my bare hands. I wanted to feel the life leave him, like we talk about UNSUBs wanting to when they choke people. I wanted to take what he'd just taken from me."

"I understand that feeling," Hotch said, his face stony. "I've been there."

"That's why I had to talk to you. I have to make some sense of this, I can't fit this into my head. My relationship with Spencer has given me so much, but what good is it if it made me so weak at the thought of losing him that I didn't want to continue to live? Is that healthy? I thought he made me stronger, but I've never felt as weak as I did when I thought he was dead."

"We all think and feel things in the moment, that first state of shock that comes with news like that. Emotions just come, you can't control it, you can't make it behave how you think it should. You felt how you felt. It's normal."

She stood up and paced again, her arms wrapped around her midsection. "I didn't know it would be like this. I need to still be myself. I can't lose part of who I am just because I got married."

Hotch sighed. "I'm afraid that's the deal, Emily. When you choose someone to be your partner for life, you invest part of yourself in them, and they do in you. You don't  _lose_  part of who you are, you  _share_  it, and it comes back to you tenfold. You can still be yourself. But you're also part of something that's more than just you. That's okay. I can't imagine anything more frightening for you than not to have control over how you respond and how you feel."

She snorted. "Yeah."

"That's just the price of admission, I'm afraid. The pain of loss is the sacrifice we make for the benefits of being close. So the only question you have to ask yourself is whether that price is too high."

Emily thought about that for a moment. She imagined leaving Spencer. Saying sorry, it's too scary, I'm too freaked out by how I feel about you, I've got too much of myself in this, I can't trust my own heart where you're concerned, so I'm done. Walking away from all of it, breathing a sigh of relief that she belonged only to herself again, and no one and nothing could ever lay her that low again.

The thought of doing such a thing brought the answer to Hotch's question into sharp focus.

She turned to Hotch. "He's worth whatever price I have to pay."

He nodded. "Then pay it, and move forward."

Emily smiled. "I will." She sat back down next to him, feeling much better.

_You just needed someone to give you permission to have been destroyed, to tell you that it was okay._

_I already knew it. Somewhere, I knew it._

_You just had to hear it said out loud by someone you trusted, someone who's been there._

Emily looked at Hotch's face, stoic as ever but with understanding in his eyes, and wished that he were someone else, someone with longer hair and a higher IQ.  _What the hell are you doing out here? Why didn't you talk about this with Spencer? Why are you taking walks and making yourself scarce when he's in the house, waiting for you to tell him what's going on in your head?_

She jumped up. "Hotch, I'm sorry. I have to go."

He smiled. "Hurry."

* * *

She found him on the porch at the back of the house, facing that same view he'd admired when they first arrived. He was sitting in a large, heavy rocker that looked like it had been hewn from raw timber. She had the vague recollection that some ancestor of hers had crafted the unwieldy thing, but it was the most comfortable chair in the house. His legs were crossed and he had a book open on his knee, but he wasn't reading it, instead he was just looking out at the view, his head tipped back against the chair.

She hesitated in the doorway, looking at the back of his head, feeling a near-painful swelling in her chest. She didn't know what to say to him. She never had, really. She didn't know how to convey what she felt. She could only hope that he was a good enough profiler to see it for himself.

She walked around the chair and looked down at him. He lifted his eyes to her face. He didn't speak. He looked like he didn't know what he could say, or what questions he could ask that wouldn't be fraught with danger. She was afraid that he was angry she'd called Hotch – or worse, hurt. She never wanted to hurt him.

Emily turned, sat down on the porch decking and lowered her head to his lap, her face turned out toward the view with her cheek resting on his leg. She wrapped her arms around his crossed knees and let out a sigh, her eyes closing.

After what seemed like an interminable pause but which was probably only a few seconds, Emily felt his hand on her head. At first it just rested there, then he combed his fingers through the hair at her temple, smoothing it back from her face in a slow, comforting caress. She exhaled shakily as he kept it up, the gentle strokes calming her still-frayed nerves. Her whole body relaxed, the tension draining out through her limbs into the floorboards, drawn out by his fingers on her skin.

They said nothing for a long time. He kept stroking her hair, the touch sinking in bit by bit and warming her through.

When she spoke into the silence it was as if she were continuing something already begun, her eyes still looking out at the fall foliage spread out before them. "I love you more than I know how to say," she said. "And when I thought you were dead, part of me wanted to die, too. That's what's been troubling me, because I thought I shouldn't have felt that way. It made me feel weak and out of control. But it's okay now. There is no 'should' when it comes to feelings. And what I felt – it wasn't real. Even at the time, somewhere underneath it, I knew it wasn't real and that it would pass and I would go on, even with as much as it hurt." His hand never stilled on her hair. She waited for him to say something, but he didn't. Finally she lifted her head and turned to look at him. He was just watching her. "You already knew all that, didn't you?"

He sighed. "Most of it."

"You could have set me straight sooner."

"I think that's the kind of thing you have to arrive at yourself." He ran one finger down her jawline. "I'm glad you told me."

"I hope you don't think – because I called Hotch, that I…"

"I get it. He's been through it."

She nodded. "I was always going to talk about it with you. I just had to know what it was I was talking about first."

Reid looked around. "Where is he?"

"Who?"

"Hotch! Did you just leave him out there?"

Emily blinked. "Oh…damn. I guess I did."

Spencer looked horrified. "Em, he drove all the way out here, we should at least feed him or something!"

* * *

Hotch, as it turned out, had been heading back to his car when Reid caught up with him. He hadn't seemed perturbed to be turning right around and driving back to Allentown, but he had accepted the invitation to stay for some late lunch, so the three of them had thrown together some sandwiches and sat on the porch admiring the view and talking about nothing of consequence. Jack's school play, in which he was starring as a fisherman. The latest death-defying suburban escapades of Carol and Mark, their across-the-street neighbors, who had become somewhat legendary around the BAU for the friendly, inoffensive banality of their lives. Reid's horror at the rumors that Michael Bay was directing a remake of "Flight of the Navigator."

"It was nice of your mother to set this up for you," Hotch said.

"Yes. She and Spencer have quite the little conspiracy going between them these days," she said.

"That is a distortion of the facts," Reid said. "Just because we agreed that some time away would be good for you…"

"See, that's just what I'm talking about. The two of you putting your little heads together and deciding what's good for me."

"Who's better qualified to do that than your mother and your husband?"

"Me, for one!"

"I feel your pain, Emily," Hotch said. "Haley and my mom used to gang up on me all the time." He looked from her to Reid and back again. "Well, I ought to leave you two alone. You didn't come up here to entertain guests." He stood up. Reid rose and took Emily's hand to pull her to her feet. They walked Hotch to the front door.

"Thank you," Emily said, hoping he knew how much she meant it.

He nodded. "I'm glad I could help."

"Have a safe trip," Reid said, shaking his hand.

"I hope I don't hear a word from either of you for ten days," Hotch said. He went to his car.

Reid trotted down the steps after him. "Be right back," he said to Emily. Hotch saw him coming and waited, half in and half out of his car, until Reid reached him.

"What is it?" Hotch asked.

"One thing before you go."

"Yes?"

"Tell me about this evidence you're giving in – Allentown, was it?"

Hotch blinked, his face staying placid. "Oh. Well, it's…um…"

"Hotch, we've never worked a case in Allentown."

Hotch shook his head, a half-smile of 'okay, you got me' on his face. "Sometimes people can't ask for what they really need."

Reid nodded, feeling touched that Hotch had driven four hours up here from DC because Emily couldn't ask him to do just that. "Thank you."

Hotch clapped him on the shoulder. "You two take care. Get some rest."

"We will." Reid went back up to the porch, and he and Emily watched their boss drive away.

"What was that about?" she asked.

"Just clearing something up."

"Okay," she said, sounding dubious but ready to drop it.

Reid put his arm around her waist. "What now?"

"Now, I want to get in that hot tub and stay there until our fingers are all pruney."

He chuckled and turned her toward him. He slid his hands up to her neck, cupping her face in his fingers, as always a little in awe of its beauty. "Hotch being here interrupted our talk a little bit," he said.

"I said what I needed to say," she said, holding onto his wrists.

"I didn't." He took a breath and looked right into her eyes. "I'm overwhelmed that you chose me, Emily. Every day, hour, minute – every  _second_  of my life is better because you're in it. Don't think I don't understand how you felt in that cell, because I do." He sighed and tipped forward until his head rested against hers. Her hands moved up to grip his shoulders. He kissed her forehead, then smiled a little as he drew back. "I love you like crazy."

She grinned. "How crazy?"

"Umm…Large Hadrion Collider crazy."

"Designer Snuggie crazy."

"Homeopathy crazy."

She bit her lip, thinking, a twinkle in her eyes. "Compulsive hoarder crazy."

"Gary Busey crazy."

"Oh, that is not fair! Gary Busey is like the terminal velocity of crazy! Nothing is crazier than that!" she said, laughing.

"Just the idea of you and me dating," he said. "But that turned out pretty well, don't you think?"

"It didn't suck," she joked, then pulled him down into a deep kiss. He wound his arms around her and kissed back, her body feeling strong and alive against him as she proceeded to show him how well she thought that crazy idea had worked out. He let himself be convinced. "Now," she murmured against his mouth. "Take me to the hot tub and get me naked, pretty boy."

* * *

The sun was setting over the Poconos, painting the already-vibrant foliage with dazzling red and orange light washes. It was a perfect fall evening, cool but comfortable, with that fresh crispness that made Emily think of apples and Fair Isle sweaters and Christmas soon to come.

They were back in that big rustic rocking chair. They'd sat in the hot tub for several hours, skin against skin, just quietly basking in each other's company and lost in their own thoughts. Despite their mutual enjoyment of the contact, neither had made any moves. It didn't feel like it was quite time for that yet. Emily knew they would make love tonight. She was a little fluttery with anticipation. She ached for him, her body wanted him inside her again, and she knew he was just as eager. In a strange way, it was almost like consummating all over again, after whatever alchemy had been worked on them by their recent ordeal had given their marriage a rebirth to whatever form it would take next. It didn't feel right for it to happen in a hot tub. But she had plans for him. Oh my, yes.

Eventually, they'd gotten out, dried off, had some wine and come out here without really discussing it. He had sat down in the chair and she'd settled herself in it with him, her legs across his lap, resting against his chest with her head tucked down on his shoulder, where it seemed to fit best, and there they sat.

Her mind tossed up a few penalty flags.  _You shouldn't need this. You shouldn't want comfort, you shouldn't need protection, it shouldn't feel good to be sheltered by anyone, let alone a man._

She ignored them. Penalties were declined. She didn't care anymore. She knew she was strong. But she also knew that being strong didn't mean never feeling vulnerable, never needing comfort, and never taking refuge in someone else. The give and take was not a river flowing in one direction but a wellspring flowing equally to each of them, rising from its source in the deep bedrock of what they created together. Their need was each for the other, their comfort was each in the other, and their shelter was formed by each with the other. So she sat with him in this chair, watching the sunset, quiet and relaxed. She sat with her husband, his arms encircling her, and wished that every person on earth could know what it felt like to have this.

* * *

She got in bed in her pajamas, pretending she didn't notice his slight expression of disappointment as he went into the bathroom to brush his teeth. As soon as she heard the water running, she hopped out of bed and stripped naked, then got back in. She sat up, shoving some pillows behind her, and tried to arrange herself in a suitably sexy pose, which was harder than it sounded.  _No, wait, my boobs looks weird if I lean like that. But no…too upright and it's prissy. If my leg's out like this it just looks like I'm stretching. Oh, crap. I want to look like Kate Winslet in "Titanic," not like I'm waiting for my gynecologist to come in._

Finally, she thought she had it. Semi-reclined, one arm up to elevate the boobs to their best advantage, sheet artfully rearranged to leave something to reveal. It was hideously uncomfortable.  _Come on, sweetheart. Brush faster. This being-sexy thing is going to put a crick in my neck._

The water shut off and he emerged in his plaid flannel pants and a t-shirt. He stopped short when he saw her. "Uh…" he said.

"You know," she purred, putting on her best Mae West voice. "I might still have a bit of a cramp."

He frowned. "You do?"

"Mmm-hmm. I think I need a doctor." He just stared for a moment, then he dissolved into giggles. Emily sighed. "Work with me, Spencer. I went to some trouble to work out this whole seduction thing."

"You think you need to seduce me? That's – kind of endearing, if spectacularly untrue," he said, his laughter tapering off. He grinned at her and started to climb into bed.

"Oh, no," she said, holding her hand up. "Clothes. Off." He grabbed at his t-shirt. "No, no. Take your time."

He looked at her, exasperated. "You want me to strip for you?"

"Is that so much to ask?"

"Do I look like a Chippendale dancer?"

"Humor me."

He smirked, and she could see some evil plan come into his mind. "All right. Just a second." He turned and went back into the bathroom.

"Spencer! Get back in here!"

"Just a second…"

She crossed her arms and huffed in frustration. She'd had this all planned out. Leave it to him to turn it on its head. "Spencer…" she said, a warning note in her voice.

"Hold your horses." He walked back out and stood by the bed.

Fully dressed.

Pants, vest, shirt and tie, jacket. He looked like he was ready to give a profile. The only thing missing was his gun. "What the heck is this?" she said.

"You want me to strip for you? Might as well do it right." He stepped back and flipped off the bathroom light, so the only illumination was from the bedside lamp. He reached up and slowly unknotted his tie, loosening it, then pulling it from around his neck with leisurely deliberation.

All the spit in Emily's mouth dried up. He was looking down at her with half-closed eyes, the slightest smile on his lips. She sat up, forgetting her careful Kate Winslet pose, and watched him take off his jacket, then unbutton his vest one excruciating button at a time. The vest hit the floor. Then the belt was slid from the loops and dropped with a clank. He pulled his shirt out of his pants and started in on those buttons. She hadn't suspected that he knew how to be sexy like this.

He pulled the shirt off one shoulder, then the other. The dim light skimmed across his smooth chest, casting shadows in the hollow of his shoulder and over the ropy muscles of his arms. The pants were next, then the boxers were lowered and kicked off and he was standing there naked. Emily held out her hands. "Come here," she said, her voice husky with desire.

He knelt on the mattress and came to her, sweeping her into his arms and kissing her with pent-up passion. He hauled her against him and she grabbed greedily at the skin she'd just watched him bare for her. He kissed her neck, his hands wandering up and down her back and lower to cup her ass. They stretched out on the bed and Emily gasped to feel his mouth on her breasts and his hand between her legs. She pushed him over onto his back and slid down to take him in her mouth. A strangled groan came out of him. "Oh god, Emily," he moaned. "I've missed you."

She knew what he meant. She'd missed him, too. She'd missed him her whole life before she'd known him, not suspecting when they met that he was the answer to the loneliness she'd felt and pretended she didn't care about, the solitude she'd fought with smiles, with work, with friends and an attitude like it didn't matter, but it did. It had been the same for him. Taken up with studies and degrees and profiling and reading, fighting off the loneliness he'd felt, too.

She crawled back up his body. She couldn't wait anymore. "I've missed you too, baby," she murmured. She straddled his hips and sank down on him, tossing her head back at the feeling of him inside her. He sat up and pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her neck and chest, whatever he could reach. "You feel so good," she said, tipping his head back so she could kiss his mouth. "God, I can't get enough of you." She rocked her hips on him, hanging on to his shoulders. He filled her so perfectly, it was like they'd been constructed to fit together.

He bore her up and laid her down on her back, keeping them joined. "I'm not going to last long," he said through clenched teeth, his thrusts speeding.

"Me neither," she said, her body jumping higher and higher. She groaned as he bent his head to her breast and took her nipple in his mouth; her hands slid down his back to grip his ass, pulling him closer and tighter to her.

It burst on her fast, unexpectedly. She grabbed his hair and cried out, the waves pulsing over her. He kissed her hard, his tongue sweeping into her mouth; she kissed back, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and her legs around his body as he made a last few shallow thrusts and came, tearing his mouth from hers to let out a hoarse yell of release that zinged through her right to her spinal column. She loved seeing him like this, abandoned to the passion they felt for each other, losing control and being nothing, not a genius or a profiler or a bullied child or a worried son or anything but a man making love to his wife, bringing her to ecstasy and joining her there.

He sagged into her arms and kissed her again, many kisses over her lips and face and neck, wherever they happened to land. "Emily," he breathed into her neck, the word carrying the slight echo of a sob. He repeated the name again, like it was an incantation.

"Spencer," she whispered, stroking his back and kissing the side of his face.

They didn't say anything else, just laid there still joined. She felt their connection, frayed and stretched by Harmon, reknitting itself and weaving a new layer of strength. Emily held him, cradling him in her body. They were both stronger for needing each other.

* * *

Reid padded naked down to the kitchen at midnight for some provisions. After that first frenzied coupling, they'd caught their breath and then made love again, more slowly, letting the fires bank between them until they roared up in flames once more, leaving them both breathless and sated – until round three, that is.

They'd lain in bed and talked, about Emily's fear of being vulnerable, about his fear of being inadequate, about what they'd felt and done during her captivity, it had all come pouring out. The memories seemed to lose some of their power when shared in their bed.

He got some grapes and cheese and pretzels and a bottle of iced tea and hurried back upstairs. They sat up in bed like kids at a slumber party and ate, laughing and feeding each other bites, remembering what it was like to just enjoy each other like they had when they'd first gotten together, before they'd been committed enough to let their issues surface.

The food consumed, she reached for him again and they settled on their sides, the heavy blankets tucked up around them, sharing slow, lingering kisses, their hands caressing each other beneath the covers.

He looked at her face in the dim light, wondering for the millionth time how such a woman had come to be his. He looked into her eyes and saw happiness there, and knew that it was time to share what he'd been thinking about. "Hey," he whispered.

"What?"

"I've got something I want to tell you."

She sighed, tucking her hands beneath her cheek. "I'm listening."

"About – us having kids."

Her face betrayed no reaction. "All right," she said, her tone careful.

"I want you to know that…" He trailed off. He didn't know how to phrase it, or how to get across what he really meant. He tried again. "I'm not saying I'm ready to do it. Or even that I'll ever be. But I think – I want to talk about it again."

She frowned. "Now?"

"No, not now. With what we've just been through, it's not a good time to talk seriously about things that'll affect the rest of our lives. I wasn't sure I should say anything to you until I was more sure about things one way or the other, but I couldn't not tell you."

"I want you to always be able to tell me what you're thinking and feeling."

He nodded. "I don't want it to be a closed topic. We should talk about it again. And we'll probably talk about it a lot, and I need to think. A lot."

"That's lucky, then. You're good at that," she said, her eyes shining in the dim light. "We can talk about it as much as you want."

"I'm not saying that…"

"I get it, Spencer. I don't have any expectations. I knew the score when I married you." She put her hand on his face. "I'm happy. You make me happy. Having a child with you would make me happy in a different way. But those days, thinking I'd have to go the rest of my life without you…" She sniffed and looked away for a second, then met his eyes again. "Just because I don't have everything I want doesn't mean I'm not happy with what I have."

He smiled. "Okay." He scooted forward and kissed her again, her hand snaking around the back of his neck. "Then there's only one more thing we have to discuss, Mrs. Reid."

"What?"

"How we're going to fill the next nine days."


	40. Chapter 40

_one month later_

__

* * *

_  
_

 

Emily was driving home from her mother's house in Baltimore on auto-pilot, the icy silence from the passenger seat contrasting sharply with the sunny Indian-summer day, warm and pleasant for late October. She was pretending she didn't notice the waves of irritation radiating off of him. She knew if she was quiet long enough, he'd start talking about it, because he couldn't help himself. The silent treatment was not a weapon in Spencer Reid's arsenal. Talking was how he entered the world.

"I can't believe you told her," he finally said, when they were about ten minutes from home.

She sighed. "She's my mother."

"We should have discussed it."

"It's not that big of a deal! It's not as if I told her we were picking out names, I just said we were talking about it."

"I should have been in on that, shouldn't I?"

"You told  _your_  mother without asking me first."

"She's thousands of miles away and has limited phone access. She's not going to be calling us every day now wondering if we've decided and if I've managed to impregnate you yet."

Emily was quiet. She had to concede that he had a tiny point there. "My mother won't do that."

"Care to lay odds?"

"You were the one who was all partners-in-crime with her when we went up to the summer house. I thought you'd want her to know."

"See, this is the problem. You just assume things about me without talking to me about it. You assume I'd want her to know, you assumed I'd be fine spending an  _entire afternoon_  with her and her boring friends  _on our anniversary_ , you assumed I wouldn't be able to go to that concert with you…"

"That's two weeks ago, I cannot  _believe_  you are still mad about that! You hate jazz and you had a deadline!"

"I would have liked to have been asked! Suddenly you're on your way out the door to meet Rossi and Garcia and I'm left at home like the last kid picked for tee-ball."

"It's our anniversary, can we please not fight? I have a splitting headache."

"An afternoon with your mother has that effect on me, too."

"Advil all around when we get home, then."

"Oh god, yes. With a Scotch chaser."

She glanced over at him. He had a slight smile lurking at the corners of his mouth. "I thought you were mad."

"I am. Very mad. Very very mad. Grrr."

She smirked and poked him in the ribs. "You're smiling."

"I am not smiling," he said, although he was and hiding it badly.

"C'mon. You love me."

"No, I don't. No love. I don't know what I ever saw in you."

Emily grinned. "You think I'm gooorgeous, you want to kisssss me, hug me and maaaaarry me," she teased, doing her best Sandra Bullock impersonation (which he claimed to hate but which never failed to get a smile out of him), continuing to poke him in the ribs as he slapped at her hand. She pulled into their driveway and put the car in park.

Spencer grabbed her poking finger, pulled her across the shift lever and kissed her hard, then suddenly tickled her under her arm, where he knew she was most vulnerable. She yelped and twisted away but he followed her. "Hold still and take it like a woman," he said. Emily laughed, writhing as he got her good on her sides, but the tickle soon turned into a caress. He leaned in and brushed his nose against hers. "I do want to kiss you," he said, doing exactly that.

She kissed back. "And do you want to marry me?"

He nodded, looking in her eyes. "All over again, in a heartbeat."

She melted. "I'm sorry I told her without talking to you first."

He shrugged. "It's done. But you have to answer the phone when she calls a million times."

"I guess that's my penance." She looked over his shoulder and something that had been puzzling her suddenly became clear. "Uh-oh," she said.

He was still nuzzling at her face. "What?" he said, distracted.

"I think I know why my mother kept us at her house forever." She nodded out the passenger window. He turned and saw the big sign posted in the yard. It was nothing but a large arrow pointing around the side of the house. "There seem to have been some busy bees plotting something here in our absence."

He sighed. "Do we have to go? Let's sneak upstairs without them noticing."

"They're our friends. They obviously went to a lot of trouble. And we haven't exchanged our gifts yet," she said, smirking. She couldn't wait to give him his gift.

"All right," he said, but she knew his exasperation was a put-on. He was just as touched as she was that their friends would have gone to the trouble of throwing them a party. Despite his long association with their BAU family and all the evidence he had that he was a valued and loved member of the team, Spencer still had more than just a touch of wallflower syndrome, never quite believing himself accepted, never thinking that anyone actually cared about him.

They got out of the car and linked hands, walking around the front of the house in the direction the arrow indicated. They came around the corner into the backyard and were nearly knocked backwards by the giant shout of "SURPRISE!" that burst over them.

Emily grinned. "Holy cow," Spencer said. "They went all out."

And they had. There were at least thirty people in the backyard. Tables had been set up, the grill was going, someone had set up a passable wet bar on the deck and there were balloons and streamers everywhere. But that wasn't what caught her attention the most.

In the corner of the yard was a ginormous bounce house. An actual bounce house, like you'd see at the fair. "Is that a bounce house?" Spencer said, shading his eyes.

"It sure is," Emily said. "Leave it to Garcia."

Speaking of Garcia, she was rushing up to hug them, the rest of the gathering trailing behind. Emily saw their team, plus assorted spouses and children. She grinned with surprise to see Germany and Kate and their husbands. Their neighbor friends, some other agents from work, the team from down the hall including Spencer's friend Chaz – it was quite the eclectic gathering. "Oh, my babies!" Garcia exclaimed, enveloping them both, one in each arm, kissing their cheeks. "One year gone already!"

"Let them breathe, baby girl," Morgan said, coming up to hug Emily and chuck Reid on the shoulder.

"Unca Spence!" came an excited little boy's voice. Henry came rocketing up to them and attached himself to Reid's leg. "Can I go inna bounce house now?"

"Well…I guess so…" Reid said, looking up in puzzlement.

"JJ said he couldn't go in until you guys got here," Garcia explained. "He's been asking if you were here yet every two minutes."

Reid leaned down to Henry's level. "You want to go in that bounce house, Henry?"

"Can I can I can I?" he said, excited.

"Sure. Let's go check it out." He took his hand to walk there with him.

"Happy anniversary," Rossi said, coming up to Emily and handing her a drink. Her favorite, gin and tonic.

"Thanks, Dave," she said. "I thought it was going to be less than stellar after my mother's luncheon that wouldn't end. At least now I know why every time we tried to leave there was suddenly something she just  _had_  to show us or tell us."

"She was my co-conspirator," Garcia said.

"I can't believe you went to all this trouble," Emily said.

"Garcia and JJ arranged everything," Hotch said. "We were just manual labor."

JJ came up for her own hug, and Emily was borne over to the rest of the gathering en masse. She looked past the guests at Spencer, who was taking off his shoes and Henry's. She grinned as they both climbed into the bounce house and began jumping around, Spencer's hair flying and Henry cackling with glee.

Spencer's willingness to discuss having a baby was a warm little glow in the back of her mind. Her cautious self kept her from getting too invested in the idea, but she knew her husband. Once he started processing and talking and thinking, she knew where it would lead, because once he started examining them, his objections and fears would start to seem less scary. But she wasn't rushing him. He had to do his own internal work. All she could do was give him the emotional reassurance he needed to make that leap to seeing himself as a father.

And what a father he'd make. He might not think so, but she knew better. His single-mindedness was childlike in itself. She didn't know another man who she could picture spending three hours on the floor assembling a complex Lego castle with the same determination that a six-year-old might display. She didn't know another man who she could picture reading endless books aloud and not getting impatient. She didn't know another man who would be downright gleeful at the idea of maintaining a carefully organized household schedule of the kind kids needed, with times and dates and lists and Post-It notes and synchronized Google calendars, never forgetting a doctor's appointment or a soccer game. Spencer had an image in his head of what a dad was supposed to be, and it didn't look like him. She would have to show him that the kind of dad he'd be was even better.

Pretty soon, there was a significant crowd in the bounce house. Jack Hotchner and some of the other children present joined in. Morgan and Kevin couldn't stay out for long, both of them popping out just long enough to drag Garcia in. Spencer emerged, his hair wild and his face flushed, laughing and waving off the entreaties for him to stay. "Hotch, you take my place," he joked.

"Uh…some other time," Hotch said.

Only the siren call of food emptied the bounce house, and soon everyone was chowing down on burgers and ribs from the grill. Garcia and JJ had engineered quite a spread, including a huge cake with "Happy Anniversary Emily & Spencer" written on it. The gathering settled into comfortable eating-and-talking-and-milling mode. The kids were back in the bounce house or playing on the lawn. Morgan and Will were tossing a football around. Designated bartender Rossi kept the drinks flowing. Their neighbor Carol was getting amusingly tipsy, as she always did at neighborhood parties.

"Present time!" Garcia crowed when everyone had eaten their fill. Emily only now noticed the table of gifts.

"Oh, you guys…you didn't have to get us presents," she said.

"I hope everyone followed the rules," Garcia said. "First anniversary's paper!"

She made them move to a more visible spot on the deck and everyone gathered around to watch. People had gotten creative with the "paper" theme. JJ gave them a handmade scrapbook for photos, with a few already in place. Hotch gave them a gift certificate to their favorite restaurant. Morgan gave them a book that Reid had to quickly hide from the eyes of the children present. Garcia gave them each their own gag calendars – Emily's was "Studs of the FBI" and Reid's was "Babes of the FBI." It wasn't until they opened them that they realized that every month of Reid's calendar had a picture of Emily, and every page of hers had a picture of Reid.

"This is going up in my cubicle first thing tomorrow," Emily said.

"I will divorce you right this second," Reid deadpanned, flushed red with embarrassment.

Finally all the gifts were opened. "But I think we still have two to go," Garcia said. "Our Steed and Mrs. Peel still have gifts for each other, I believe."

Emily jumped up. "I'll be right back!" she said. She dashed into the house to get her gift for Reid, excited. This gift had taken some doing, but she was sure it would be worth it. When she came back outside, Spencer had a wrapped box on his lap. She handed him the manila envelope containing his gift, and he handed her the box.

For a moment neither of them made a move to open them, just looked down at them. It was hitting her that it had really been a whole year, and here they were. She looked up at him. "Happy anniversary, Spencer," she murmured.

He gave her a sweet smile. "Happy anniversary, Em." He leaned forward and kissed her. Emily heard a few "aww"s coming from the guests.

"You first!" she said, holding on to her gift.

"Okay," he said. He opened the envelope and pulled out a few papers. Frowning, he looked at them. "It's…um…plane tickets and hotel reservations. We're going to New Haven, Connecticut?" he said.

"Yep," she said, grinning. He'd figure it out in a minute.

"Why are we going to Yale?"

"There's something else in there."

He reached in and pulled out a laminated badge. He looked at it, then his whole face went slack and his eyes went wide. "Emily! This isn't…"

"It is!" she said, grinning.

"Oh my God!" he exclaimed. He grabbed her and hugged her hard. Before she could hug back he had drawn away and was looking at the badge again. "You know how long I've wanted this?"

"Of course I do," she said.

"I can't believe it!"

"Okay, clue in the mundanes here," Garcia said.

Emily looked out at them. "The badge is a visiting researcher's pass to the Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library at Yale. They own the only original copy of the Voynich Manuscript. It's a hobby of Spencer's. The manuscript isn't normally made available to researchers, it's kept in their closed collection." She turned toward him. "My mother knows some people at Yale. You'll have two full days to examine the original manuscript in their vault."

He was shaking his head like he couldn't believe it. "This is so amazing. I can't believe you did this. It's the best present you could have given me." He grinned at her, and she knew she'd done well. "Thank you," he said, and hugged her again, a little less spasmodically.

"You're welcome, sweetheart."

He pulled back and kissed her with enough emphasis that a couple of wolf whistles floated toward them.

"What's this manuscript?" JJ asked.

Reid cleared his throat. "It's a medieval text written in some kind of code that no one's ever been able to crack. It might just be a hoax, but if it is, it's a very elaborate one. There are a lot of theories but no one knows what it is or why it was written, or by whom. I've been trying to decipher it since I was a teenager. It's something my mom and I used to work on together." He put the tickets and the badge back in the envelope. "Well, my gift is going to seem pretty paltry after that."

"Don't be silly," Emily said. She tore the wrapping off and opened the box.

For a moment she just stared at the contents, tears filling her eyes. She could feel Spencer watching her. "What is it?" Garcia prompted.

"Oh…oh, honey," she sighed. She pulled out of the box what was clearly a vintage copy of "The Little House" by Virginia Lee Burton, her favorite book when she was a child. She hadn't seen it in many years, but she'd thought of it often. "My favorite book."

"I know," he said. "It's a first edition. And look at the flyleaf."

Emily opened the book and gasped out loud. The book was signed "To Emily, Home is where you are loved. Best Wishes, Virginia Lee Burton." She stared at him, at a loss as to how he'd accomplished this feat. "But…she died like forty years ago!"

He smiled. "I found a vintage copy that was inscribed to Emily."

She shook her head, tears running down her face. "This is so special. I can't believe you went to all that trouble." It wasn't just the trouble. The significance of him giving her a children's book was obvious, and looking into his eyes she saw that it wasn't lost on him, either. She hugged him. "Thank you," she whispered in his ear.

"This is so sweet," Garcia said, looking at the book. "Reid, this must have taken you forever to find."

"It was worth the effort," he said, smiling at Emily.

The gift-opening dispersed and everyone went back to milling and talking. JJ pulled her aside, as Emily had known she would. "He gave you a children's book," she said.

Emily nodded. "Yes, he did."

"Emily – are you guys…" She trailed off. "It's none of my business, I'm sorry."

Emily smiled. "We're – talking. That's all so far."

JJ smiled back. "That's a start. How'd you get him talking about it?"

"It was his idea."

JJ hugged her tight. "I hope you keep talking."

Emily chuckled. "You know Spencer. Once he starts talking, the problem is getting him to stop."

Suddenly Spencer appeared at her side and grabbed her hand, interrupting their laughter. "Come on."

"What?" she said, letting herself be dragged away.

"You're going in the bounce house with me."

* * *

Reid bent over and picked up Emily's foot, yanking off her shoe while she hung onto his shoulder, laughing. He pulled off her other one and kicked off his own, then grasped her about the waist and helped hoist her up into the bounce house, clambering in after her. "So I just bounce?" she said, looking unsure.

"You bounce!" he said, demonstrating.

She made a couple of experimental bounces, then a bigger one, and within a few seconds she was bounding up and down, her hair flying, laughing. "This is great!" she said.

He watched his wife flying through the air, unmindful of the tasteful clothes she'd worn to her mother's house, not caring if she looked silly. She reached out and grabbed his hands, whooping, and he pulled her around in a circle, bouncing the whole way. She beamed at him, her eyes sparkling with life and that look she had that was just for him, and Spencer Reid realized that he could no longer remember what it felt like to be lonely.

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Notes:
> 
> 1\. The "the team from down the hall" and Spencer's friend Chaz are references to the brilliant CM-inspired web series Shadow Unit, which is about a BAU team which hunts paranormal phenomenon that are part of a pattern of anomalous genetic expression (it's not a fanfiction, it's 100% original). I highly recommend it. Chaz is sort of their analagous Reid character.
> 
> 2\. Emily's Sandra Bullock teasing is from the movie "Miss Congeniality." You can find the clip on YouTube if you've never seen it.
> 
>  
> 
> 3\. The Voynich Manuscript is a real thing, and it is as I've described it, except I've exaggerated its inaccessibility a bit. I don't think any special dispensation is required to view it. But it's exactly the kind of thing Reid would really dig. It's on Wik if you're curious.
> 
> 4\. "The Little House" was my favorite book as a child too, and I give it to pretty much everyone I know who has a baby.


End file.
